Fast Times at Sunnydale High
by rockstarpeach
Summary: Wesley is a high school dork with a crush on Lindsey, a cool kid with a girlfriend. AU ensemble story, lots of characters from Angel and Buffy, lots of pairings. Main ones are Wes/Lindsey, Lindsey/Fred, Wes/Connor, Spike/Faith, Spike/Fred. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

Title: Fast Times at Sunnydale High

Pairings/Characters: Lots. Mainly Wes/Lindsey, Lindsey/Fred, Wes/Connor, Spike/Fred, Spike/Faith. And others. Really, just about everybody is in this.

Rating: Adult eventually, for language, sex, underage drinking and drugs

Summary: Wesley is a high school dork who has a crush on Lindsey, a cool kid with a girlfriend.

***

_Oh, fuck_, Lindsey thought tiredly, as he headed toward his locker. It was 2:45 in the afternoon, and now that classes were over for the day he was looking forward to dropping his books off and heading out with his girl, maybe driving his truck over to Millers Woods, even though it wasn't close to dark yet, and seeing how far she's let him get today.

Probably not very; she never did, but it was always worth a shot. She was cute and fun and he really did like her and it wasn't really too much of a hardship for him to have to go home after they'd been fooling around, remembering tongues and lips and hesitant touches, and sometimes, if he was lucky, a tiny little taste of tit, and jerk off in his room to the dirty magazines he kept under his bed.

It wasn't exactly a picnic, either.

Sometimes he missed how easy Darla had been.

He glanced down at the Economics book in his hand and considered just taking it home with him, instead of putting it away. Fuck, that might even make it look like he was doing some studying, not that he needed to, and get his dad off his case for a while.

But he was meeting Fred here, so he rolled his eyes and kept walking. Wesley's locker was two down from his own, and the guy was currently standing in front of it, not looking like he was in a hurry to go anywhere, and of course wherever Wesley was, Spike was.

And Spike was weird.

Not in the same way that Michael and Amy were weird, with their incense and voodoo and all that shit, but Lindsey didn't get him. He was pretty popular, or would have been if he'd cared about that shit, and didn't have any problems making his way through all the chicks in high school – especially the ones at the Catholic school down the road from Sunnydale High – but he never bothered trying to win anyone's approval. Lindsey thought he almost went out of his way to avoid it.

He was a jerk, a smart-ass, a punk, and he hung out with Wesley, who might come in second, if the school were to hold some kind of dork competition, only to Andrew. It was no wonder the two of them had been a couple for most of junior year. Neither of them could probably get anyone else to date them.

Spike pretty much had a permanent seat in detention, he told the teachers off regularly and thought that the teachers lounge was his personal smoking area.

He was someone that Lindsey and his crowd had happily avoided for most of the past two years with the exceptions of some shared classes and the occasional night out at the Bronze, where they were forced to drink and dance in the same space and once in a while listen to each other play vastly different styles of music and try not to vomit.

They'd never exactly gotten along, and existed quite happily with their mutual dislike fueling sarcastic digs and nasty comments, but lately Spike had been acting... weird. Paying Lindsey more attention than he ever had, and the comments he made had just been getting bizarre. Lindsey was feeling increasingly like there was some sort of joke he was unaware of, and he was the punch line. It was really pissing him off.

And if Lindsey had ever bothered to notice Wesley enough in the four years since the Brit had moved to California and been attending school with him to have any idea what he normally like, he would have realised there was something off about the way he was behaving lately, too.

But Wesley wasn't somebody that Lindsey ever had any use for, not somebody that stuck out to him as special or worth his time in any sense, and if he was acting strange, Lindsey sure as hell wouldn't be able to pick up on it.

Okay, if he could just hurry up and put his shit away, and Fred could hurry the hell up and meet him, and he could keep his head down for just a minute, maybe the bleached blond idiot wouldn't notice him and he wouldn't have to put up with any of his retarded conversation. If the bullshit that came out of Spike's mouth could pass for conversation, that was.

***

Spike was leaning against the locker next to Wesley's, Tucker Wells' locker, and trying to hide his smirk as the senior walked past, obviously deciding he could do without whatever was in there for the moment, and not bothering to ask Spike to get out of the way. It hadn't gone well for him the last time he'd suggested that Spike move.

Wesley had been living in Sunnydale since before high school, having moved over with his father after the divorce, and he'd found it an extremely lonely place to be until three years ago. When Spike came over as an exchange student he'd lived with Wesley and his father for their freshman year, his parents happy to pay Mr Wyndham-Pryce for the pleasure of not having their son at home for 9 months.

He'd rented out the basement, and it wasn't long before life wasn't quite so lonely anymore for Wesley. Spike (or William as he so disliked to be called) was a hard person to get along with, and Wesley's friend-making skills left much to be desired, but despite that, they'd seen something in each other that few others were allowed to, and the fact that Wesley had instantly fallen in love with the blond certainly didn't hurt his motivation to get close to him.

Well, alright, it hadn't exactly been love. But it was definitely lust. Spike had been gorgeous and Wesley had been a bumbling virgin, having just come out of a sham of a relationship with a girl called Willow (who'd later turned out to be gay herself) and Spike had been the first boy that Wesley had been sexually attracted to. It was a very powerful feeling, the way one felt for their very first object of desire.

Oh, the other boy hadn't been interested, of course, not that Wesley had actually confessed to his feelings. Spike knew though. He would have had to have been a lot more stupid than people gave him credit for not to know, what with the way Wesley chased after him, made eyes at him, found excuses to touch him, do things for him, and came out to all of his band's shows, even though he was much more the 'Michael Bolton' type than any of _Hellmouth_'s other fans.

But Spike hadn't made him feel bad about it. Teased him, sure. Rubbed his nose in it, made quite a sport of flirting, brushing too close to Wesley, working on his beat up old De Sotto on too hot days without a shirt, covered in grease and sweat as he'd gotten Wesley to help him out just so he could show off to the other boy, make him squirm.

But then Wesley had gotten up the courage to ask out Andrew Wells, Tucker's little brother, and Spike had been happy for them, until Warren had caught Andrew's eye and he'd dumped Wesley to chase after the little shit. Spike had, of course, beaten the crap out of both of them for hurting Wes, even though Warren wasn't gay and wouldn't even think about touching Andrew.

But that's what friends did, right?

After the school year had ended, Spike decided he liked living in California so much that he wanted to finish high school out in Sunnydale, and his parents were happy to keep on sending him money, and now, by the beginning of their fourth year, it was feeling a lot like home.

"Hey Wes," Spike said, nodding in the direction behind Wesley and over his shoulder and his expression became knowing, playful. "Here comes your boyfriend."

"My what?" Wesley asked, confused by the abrupt change of topic from their plans for the weekend, and turned to look behind him, to where Spike was staring.

He quickly turned back around, hoping that Lindsey hadn't seen him looking, hoping that he didn't notice the way Spike was unabashedly staring at him, and tried to hide his face behind his locker door. "Spike," he pleaded, eyes wide. "Please. Just shut up."

Spike had been teasing him mercilessly for about two months now. Ever since their senior year started and Wesley's best friend had found out about his crush on the lead singer of _Evil Hand_.

Lindsey was… Wesley couldn't help but sigh, just thinking about how and who and what Lindsey was. He was sexy beyond measure, and he was one of the coolest kids in school, and his band was… well, not very good, but it was still a band, and oh, dear God, if he could only date the lead singer of a band…

Not that he was only interested in Lindsey for his popularity. No, it went much deeper than that. He wanted him for his looks, too. That hair of his, that seemed, if you were obtuse enough to believe it, haphazardly tossed across his head and face. Those arms, ridiculously strong, and well muscled for how little he used them. His chest and stomach and back, skin rippling over the muscles when he worked out or played a sport, and Wesley was forever thankful that he'd been put into the same PE class as Lindsey. Even if he knew he looked a fool in front of the object of his desire on more than on occasion, with his utter lack of athletic ability.

It was worth it to watch Lindsey, confidant and happy and showing off just a little, especially when it came to baseball, because he really was quite good. Damn but he was something.

And sure, Wesley didn't know Lindsey very well. They might have said a total of one hundred words to each other over the course of their entire acquaintance, but he just knew they would get along famously. If the other boy ever bothered to look at him, that was.

Not that Wesley would know what to do with himself if he ever did Lindsey's attention. He was becoming increasingly shy and flustered whenever the other boy was around, and considering how awkward he'd been before he'd developed the mother of all crushes, it was safe to say that it was getting a little ridiculous.

"Hey Lindsey," Spike said, eyes twinkling and lips twisted in a smirk.

_Shit_, Lindsey thought. There goes the avoiding the jack-ass plan. He looked up from his locker, barely sparing Spike a glance and mumbled, "hey," before turning around and pretending to be very interested in his Economics text book.

He would have loved to have just ignored Spike and left, but he was waiting for his girlfriend, and it would be pretty shitty of him not to respond to someone and then keep on standing there, letting them know that you were too good to waste your voice on them. Even if that someone was Spike.

Spike didn't look away when Lindsey did though. His grin broadened and he looked the Texan up and down, slowly.

"Spike!" Wesley whispered admonishingly as he kicked out his foot to connect with the steel toe of Spike's boot.

Spike ignored him. "Are those new jeans?" he asked, smiling wide and innocent when Lindsey looked up at him again, expression puzzled.

"Uh," Lindsey said. "Yeah, I guess." He screwed up his face and turned away again, wondering what the fuck Spike cared about his pants. He snuck a glance down at his legs over the edge of his book. They _were_ pretty fuckin' cool though. Showed off his assets.

"They're really… nice, aren't they Wes? Nice?" Spike was looking at Wesley now, enjoying his friend's discomfort much more than he probably should have been.

"Spike," Wesley said under his breath, colour rising in his cheeks. "I swear to God…"

Oh, Wesley was so much fun when he got all worked up like this. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure Wes thinks they're _nice_." Wesley was going to kill him, but it was completely worth it. "Don't you, Wes?"

What the hell was Wesley supposed to say? He snuck a quick glance toward Lindsey and then looked back to Spike. The bastard was still smiling. "Yes, I… I suppose so," he answered, and he would have run very far, very fast if he didn't think it would make him look even stupider.

"Oh yeah. Wesley reaaaally likes them," he confirmed, leaning closer to Wesley to tease out the extended vowel into his ear.

"Whatever," Lindsey said rolling his eyes. He gave up on pretending to read and stuffed his book into his locker, slamming the door shut. "Freak," he mumbled, and he thought he heard Spike chuckle. There was something seriously wrong with that boy.

"Hey Lindsey!" a bubbly voice said from behind him, and he sighed in relief, turning around and kissing the owner of the voice swiftly and forcefully on the mouth.

"Thank fuck," he said, grabbing her by the hand. "Let's get out of here, baby."

"Sure," she smiled and leaned in close to murmur in his ear. "Mama and Daddy won't be home until late tonight, so we can go to my place. You know," she blushed "if you wanted."

Holy fuck did her ever want! If they had several hours with no interruptions he might even be able to get past second base. "Sure, babe. Sounds perfect." He kissed her once more on the cheek and gave her arm a tug to get them moving.

"Oh, hey Spike! Wes!" she chirped brightly as they began walking and she noticed the two boys standing nearby. They were nice guys, and Fred really like them, even if they didn't really hang out all that much. But Fred liked just about everyone, and besides, Spike was really cute. If she wasn't already spoken for she wouldn't have minded trying him out.

"Fred," Wesley smiled, suddenly at ease. Winifred had that effect on people. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine, thanks!" she said.

"Fred," Spike greeted, in a decidedly more lascivious manner than Wesley had. He raised an appreciative eyebrow and let his gaze travel up and down her body without shame. "You're looking smashing today, luv."

She giggled and shuffled her feet, fingers playing over the hem of her mini-skirt. "Oh, stop it, you!" she mock-scolded.

She looked up when she felt Lindsey's hand on her back, rubbing impatient circles to get her attention. She flashed him an apologetic smile before quickly turning back to Wesley and Spike. "Bye guys!" she said, waving. "Was nice seeing y'all."

As they walked away Lindsey shot Spike a look that clearly implied that if he kept on looking at his girlfriend like that, he'd wind up on the business end of a set of brass knuckles. Spike rolled his eyes at the former Texan and help up two very proud fingers, clearly implying that he wasn't in the least arsed about what Lindsey thought about anything.

"You are a complete and utter asshole!" Wesley whispered loudly, smacking Spike on the arm and scowling. "What the hell was that all about?"

"What?" Spike asked, mouth open wide, as if he didn't know exactly what Wesley was so upset about. "Was only making friendly conversation with your future husband."

"No," Wesley said, expression deadly.

_Shit_, Spike thought, eyes dropping a bit and losing some of their mischievousness. Maybe he'd gone a little far, but he was only joking around, and hadn't meant to hurt Wesley's feelings.

"You were being a jerk. Christ, Spike he probably thinks I'm an idiot now!"

Spike thought it was probably kinder not to tell Wesley that he was wrong; Lindsey probably didn't think anything about him at all, but he had to say something.

"Wes," Spike said, turning serious. "It's never going to happen, you and him. You know that, right? He's not gay, and even if he was, I don't think you're his type."

"I do know that, Spike," Wesley said, looking deflated. "I'm not entirely naïve. Nor am I in any sort of control over the way I feel. Emotions aren't logical, Spike." He stopped and looked up at his friend, smiling playfully and self-deprecatingly. "Neither is the way my pants seem to feel at least a size too small whenever he bends over for any reason."

Spike snorted and shook his head. "You'll find someone, Wes," he told him. "Someone a lot better than that shithead." _And a lot better than Andrew_, he thought, but didn't say.

His eyes flickered briefly over the open locker door behind Wesley's head, and to the small, black and white photo of Wesley and his ex-boyfriend that was almost hidden between his class schedule and some funky picture of weird crystal shite out of the latest _Scientific American_.

They were still friends, Spike knew, or at least pretending to be, but Wes was the delicate sort, and Spike didn't think he was entirely over the hurt yet. And any sort of hanging on was just unhealthy.

Wesley looked at Spike and thought briefly that he had long ago found someone who was better than either of the other boys, but those silly notions had disappeared, replaced by the very best of friendships, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Yes, well," he said, trying to lighten the mood. "Until then… Father's away for the weekend, so if you like, we can invite your band over, crank the amp up to 11, and drink beer until we think you and your friends actually have talent."

"Smart ass," Spike groused and bumped his shoulder into Wesley's, smiling when the other boy stumbled back.

Wesley smiled too, shutting his locker, and the two headed home.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Fast Times at Sunnydale High

Pairings/Characters: Lots. Mainly Wes/Lindsey, Lindsey/Fred, Wes/Connor, Spike/Fred, Spike/Faith

Rating: Adult eventually, for language, sex, underage drinking and drugs

Summary: Wesley is a high school dork who has a crush on Lindsey, a cool kid with a girlfriend.

Chapter 2

Lindsey sighed and tossed his guitar down, not at all gently, on the couch in Angel's garage, grabbing a bottle of beer out of the fridge and twisting the top off. It really came in handy that Angel's older brother, Liam, didn't think twice about buying beer for him and his friends.

"Fuck!" he swore and flicked the beer cap across the room, kicking the base of the beaten up old sofa with heel of his foot. He was being pretty dramatic, sure, but shit, he was frustrated!

"So, you're feeling pretty good about that set, then." Oz said, sardonically, and took a sip from his own bottle.

"Yeah, Linds," Angel said, putting his drumsticks down on the end table and flopping down onto the couch gracelessly. "What the hell is wrong with you today?"

His mood had been for shit all afternoon and he hadn't been able to play a single song without screwing up somehow. His concentration was shot, he was screwing up his guitar fingering and he'd forgotten enough lyrics that Angel had volunteered to sing lead for the day just so that they could get some better practice in.

And you knew you were fucking up pretty bad when _Angel_ singing was looking like a better alternative.

"Shit, sorry guys," he said, tilting back his bottle and swallowing half of it down. "Just having an off day."

"Yeah, way off," Angel mumbled.

"Fuck you," he sneered, sticking up his middle finger. Angel laughed.

"Hey man," Oz said. "If you're not feeling well, it's cool. Taking the day off isn't exactly going to affect how great we're not." It really wasn't. They were alright, as far as high school bands went, and they had fun together. Lindsey happened to be pretty talented though, and if he ditched his friends he might be able to make a few bucks, but it wouldn't have been anything substantial, compared to what his family already had, so he was content to play just for how much he loved it, and not worry about success.

"No, I'm…" He wanted to say 'I'm fine', but while that was physically true, it was mentally way off the mark. There were two things bothering him today and he decided to start at the beginning. He sat down next to Angel, placing his beer bottle in between his knees and holding the neck between his thumb and fingers.

"I was at Fred's place last night," he began, and paused for another sip of beer.

"Ohhhh" his friends chorused, like that answered everything. Oz looked down and started to tune his guitar and Angel rolled his eyes and stretched his legs out on the floor in front of him, getting comfortable.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Lindsey asked, defensive. He knew he had a tendency to bitch a lot about how little action he was getting, but it had never put him in this bad a mood before.

Then again, he'd never been in the situation where he was the only one out his best friends that wasn't getting any and they probably thought it hurt his pride more than his cock. Angel and Oz were both in steady relationships, and even though it had taken Buffy a while to come around, Angel couldn't shut the hell up about her most days, going on and on about how wild and dirty she was.

Lindsey was pretty sure he was full of shit, but at least he was getting his dick wet.

Doyle, on the other hand, couldn't bend over fast enough when he'd met Oz, but Oz had never been the type to brag about that kind of thing. Or any kind of thing, really.

"It means, either fuck her, dump her or shut up about it," Angel said, suppressing a sigh. "It's not like you'd be hard up if you weren't waiting for her skinny little ass."

"I like her, alright?" Lindsey shot back. "Fuck, you're an asshole."

Angel snickered at Lindsey and Oz couldn't help but crack the tiniest of smiles. "Relax," Angel said, playfully elbowing his friend in the ribs. Shit, Lindsey was edgy. And honestly, Angel sort of got the feeling that despite all his bravado, Lindsey wasn't all that broken up about his girl not putting out.

It was possible he had his eye on someone else, but Angel didn't think so. He really was the loyal type when he got into a relationship. Maybe Fred just didn't do it for him like that. Either way, Angel couldn't see the relationship lasting much longer than another month. Two tops.

A part of him felt bad for being so pessimistic. Lindsey was his best friend, and he really liked Fred, too. They were cute together, and Lindsey always seemed happier when she was around, but beyond a normal teenaged boy's desire to fuck anything that moves, Angel never noticed any real heat between them. And they were only seventeen. It would be a fuckin' miracle if things did work out.

"I know you like her." Angel's tone was softer now. "But if you're getting this upset just 'cause you haven't had sex in three months, you might want to take another look at how important she is."

Angel was completely wrong. Probably.

"It's not even that, man," he said, shaking his head. Yes, he was frustrated about not scoring, like he always was, but he'd kind of gotten used to that by this point. He didn't really expect to get laid, and he was getting pretty comfortable with what they did do.

"When I got home, from, you know, not getting any, my dad was waiting up for me. With my first term grade report."

Oz whistled. "I'm guessing that went about as well as practice today."

"To put it fuckin' mildly," Lindsey grumbled.

"I told you you probably should have handed in an assignment or two," Angel said, trying to hold back his laughter.

"Fuck off, man," Lindsey told him. "It ain't funny.'

Angel kind of thought it _was_ funny, and Oz, though he'd never say it, agreed with him. Lindsey was by far the smarted guy they knew, and it was as amusing as it was irritating that he put so little effort into his school work. Son of a bitch was lucky his daddy was a big shot lawyer and could buy his way into a good college, before he followed in his footsteps and became a big shot himself.

But then, that was probably why he played and pissed his time away now, while he could.

"Right," Angel said, stealing Lindsey's beer and finishing it in one swallow. "So, how bad was it?"

"Seven B's," he said.

"Well, I can see how you'd be upset," Oz agreed, dryly, and Lindsey narrowed his eyes before calling him a "smartass."

"Seven B's," Angel repeated, a bit flabbergasted. "Without doing any work. At all. You're lucky I don't kick your ass, you know."

"Yeah, well, my daddy's gonna," Lindsey told them. "Because of my D in history."

Angel and Oz broke out laughing.

"Shut the fuck up! I told you it wasn't funny!"

"Oh, God!" Angel almost wheezed. "You! You're actually failing a course!"

"Welcome to the land of the slackers, man," Oz smiled as he said. It really wasn't so bad to fail something, as long as you had fun while you did it. That's what summer school was for, anyway.

"Would you two shut the hell up? I'm not gonna fail anything," Lindsey insisted. "And the only reason my mark in history is so low is because we haven't had any tests yet." Tests were where Lindsey excelled. He never did any homework, and he was doing well if he spent more than five minutes in the morning working on any assignments that had to handed in, but he knew his shit. And he always counted on tests and exams to bring his grades up.

"But, fuck," he sighed and got up to get another beer. "My daddy's making me get a tutor."

Angel and Oz started laughing again, and Lindsey couldn't help but chuckle, himself. Just a very, very small chuckle, though. They were right; it was kind of funny. Lindsey could easily tutor just about anyone in their school, in just about any subject, but his father thought that his low grade meant that he didn't get it, and insisted that Lindsey find himself another student to tutor him in history until his grade went up to the same level as the rest.

So really, it was a good thing he hadn't put any effort into any of his other classes, because there was no way his history mark was coming up from a D to an A+. A B he could handle, and would, easily, after he wrote the final exam. So all he had to do was find someone to pretend to study with until Christmas.

It really shouldn't have been such a big deal, but for anyone, especially his dad, to imply that he couldn't figure that shit out on his own, was really goddamned insulting!

"So get over it," Angel snorted. "Find some cute little thing to 'study' with a couple of times a week, and make your dad happy."

"Yeah, you're right," Lindsey sighed. He knew Angel was right, but he couldn't help but cringe at the thought of looking like a dumbass in front of the entire school. And he would, when he posted a 'Tutor Wanted' add up on the school bulletin for everyone to see.

Fuck, if he'd only written _one_ of those essays…

"Fuck it," he said, standing up and downing the rest of his second beer. It was already past supper time on Saturday. He was just getting a bit of a head start. "Let's play."

He grabbed his guitar and waited for Angel and Oz to take their places, and they managed to get in a few more songs before hunger overwhelmed them and they called for pizza, and spent the rest of the night ignoring text messages from their significant others, drinking, and playing 'Rock Band' on Angel's X-Box.

Which Oz couldn't help thinking was entirely redundant.

***

"Wes?" Spike groaned, head pounding and mouth fuzzy, and not opening his eyes because he was pretty sure it just wouldn't be worth it. He was pretty sure he was in his room, and he was pretty sure he was naked, and he was completely sure he wasn't alone.  
He let his hand drift down from over his face to meet up with a shaggy mop of hair resting on his chest. And no, it didn't belong to Wesley. Not that he'd thought it might, but Wesley being around the morning after a party like they'd had last night was pretty much the only constant.  
"No, I'm not Wes, stud," came Faith's gravelly voice, as her hands squeezed his bare sides and her fingernails traced random patterns over his skin. "But hey, if that's what you're into, I sure as hell wouldn't mind giving it a go. Boy is too fuckin' cute!"  
"Ugh." Spike tried to sit up, but the vague nausea and the weight of his keyboardist and lead singer on top of him prevented it. "Funny, luv." Spike and Faith weren't serious. They didn't even date, really, but every once in a while they got together to let off a little steam. It seemed to work for them.  
He turned his head to the side and cracked one eye open, cautiously. Yeah, it was as bad as he'd thought. At least he was in his own bed, if you could call the twin-sized cot pushed up against the far wall of the massive basement room a bed.

The room was a mess. Food and empty bottles were scattered everywhere, the television screen was that shade of bright blue that indicated it was waiting for you to stop being retarded and hit that tv/video button until you got a picture, there were a half dozen or so leftover bodies from the previous night, all in various undignified poses on the snack-and-stain covered carpet, including one poor sod draped wholly uncomfortably looking over Connor's drums.

And Speaking of Connor…

"Hey, Wesley!" he said again, louder.

***

"Five more minutes," Wesley mumbled and rolled over, pulling the covers up over his head. His bed was feeling a little lumpy this morning, and colder on the one side, but much warmer on the other, and now that he thought about it, it didn't feel like he had any pants on, and his father sounded a hell of a lot like Spike…

"Spike?" he ventured, and pulled the blanket down to reveal his face. He slowly blinked open his eyes and the first thing he saw was… brown.

Kind of an ash-brown with the smallest of blond flecks if he was paying attention, which he wasn't, and if he had been he'd have noticed that the two colours complimented each other very well, and Wesley didn't at all experience the urge to turn that head over to see the face on the other side.

He closed his eyes and fought back the enormous headache he knew was on the way, and when he opened them again he wasn't as tempted as he'd thought, to find out who he'd apparently spent the night with. It wasn't Lindsey, and even though he knew he was only torturing himself with the notion, he couldn't help but think that anyone else just wouldn't be good enough.

The body turned over anyway, the face smiled at him, the arms wrapped around him and pulled him closer on the mound of blankets they'd used to create their make-shift bed, and he barely managed to keep his tears from falling when Connor smiled at him and kissed him, lovingly, possessively, on the lips, and closed his eyes again, rubbing their foreheads together.

Well, shit. He must have been a lot drunker than he'd thought the night before. It wasn't that he particularly disliked Connor – quite the opposite. He'd always gotten along well with the boy whenever they'd gotten together, but they were really only friends by association. He was two years younger than most of their friends, only just a sophomore at Sunnydale High this September, but he was an excellent drummer, and Spike liked picking on him almost as much as he liked picking on Wesley.

He was nice, and cute and funny in an odd sort of way, but there were definitely two huge problems with the current situation.

The first was that he knew Connor had a bit of a thing for him, and since he knew he could never return those feelings, leading him on in any way was entirely unfair. Wesley was all too familiar with unrequited affection, and the last thing he wanted to do what hurt anyone.

And the second problem was that Wesley didn't sleep around. Ever. In fact, he'd only ever slept with one person, before whatever happened last night, and now not only had he apparently gone and turned into a slut, but there were at least a half dozen direct witnesses to his slutiness!

He wanted to throw up, and he suspected that only half of that was a result of all the beer he'd drunk.

"I… I've got to go," he said, pulling out of Connor's reach and sitting up, thankfully finding his pants in a rumpled heap next to where he'd been sleeping. He didn't see his underwear with them, but this wasn't exactly the time to go searching. He'd find them later. Or not. Whatever.

He tried to keep the blanket over his hips as he shimmied his pants on, and tried to pretend that Connor wasn't staring at him with a silly looking grin, and he tried not to scream like a woman when Connor reached out and ran two fingers over his jeans-covered hip as he stood.

"I'll, um, see you later," Wesley mumbled.

Connor smiled up at him, dreamily. "Yeah," he agreed, his voice perfectly matching his face, and Wesley turned around, crossing the room and climbing the stairs as quickly as was polite to do so.

He didn't notice Spike and Faith snickering from their position tangled up in each other on Spike's bed, but Connor did.

"What are you laughing at?" he snapped his head around and asked, defensively, when Wesley had gone upstairs.

"Oh, nothing," Spike drawled, lifting Faith out of the way so he could get up, slipping on a pair of sweats before walking over to the fridge in the kitchen area. He pulled out a jug of orange juice and set it on the table, grabbed several cups down from the cupboard and set them next to the juice. He thought for a minute and grabbed a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter as well, putting them on the counter beside the toaster.

His other friends were beginning to shift and sit up and make various piteous noises and Spike figured they'd probably want something easy to digest.

Connor came over to sit with Spike at the table and they were soon joined by the rest of the gang. They passed around breakfast and chatted about how much fun they'd had the previous night and about the gig _Hellmouth_ had at the Bronze on Thursday and Connor remained quiet, face easy and relaxed with a ghost of a smile on his lips, until Spike spoke to him.

"So, kid," he said, taking a bite of his toast. "Did our Wesley finally make a man out of you, or what?"

Everyone at the table started chuckling and making comments, and Gunn, who was sitting next to him, gave him a friendly noogie, laughing when Connor turned a very deep shade of red and pushed him away.

"Stop it!" he laughed, clearly embarrassed, but not wanting to take the teasing any more seriously than it was intended.

"If by 'make a man out of him'," Anya interjected, "you mean 'have anal intercourse', then yes, he did. I heard them. They weren't very quiet."

There were sniggers and hoots of congratulations and Connor tried to hide his growing embarrassment by taking a sip of his juice and clearing his throat. "So," he said, trying to come up with something else to talk about. He was excited about what had happened with Wesley, excited at the prospect of seeing again and he could barely keep a huge grin from throwing up all over his face, but he was a fairly private person, and this wasn't really any of anyone else's business.

"Anyone seen the new 'Batman' movie?"

There was more laughter, and a few eye rolls, but the subject of Connor's love life was mercifully dropped, as the group began to talk about random things before everyone eventually headed home. Spike hadn't forgotten about it, though, and made a mental note to have a talk with Wes.

***

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Spike teased when Wesley made his way down the basement stairs and into Spike's apartment later that afternoon. He'd eaten and showered and slept a little bit more, and he didn't feel quite so much like a zombie now. He was still anxious though, as one would expect if one were to have gotten so drunk that they couldn't remember what happened, and then woke up bottomless next to another bottomless boy.

"Hi Spike," he said, sitting down next to his friend on the couch and watching a little bit of the football game that was on.

"So you hooked up with Connor, eh?" Spike asked, raising his eyebrow. "You've had better ideas, Wes."

"Trust me, I know," Wesley agreed. "But I don't remember a thing, Spike! There was music and dancing and quite a lot of alcohol, and then... Then I woke up."

"You don't remember anything that happened between you?"

"Not really," Wesley answered. There were flashes that were coming back, of the two of them together, kissing, touching, falling into a pile of blankets in a dark corner once everyone else was either sleeping or gone. But he had no idea how it had started, or what would have convinced him that it was something he should be participating in at all.

"So you don't remember telling me you were sick of pining after Lindsey and you were going to get him out of your system? Don't remember dragging Connor off behind his drum set and sticking your tongue in his mouth?"

"Why didn't you stop me?!" Wesley squealed, mortified that it had been his idea in the first place. If he had been drunk and his resistance lowered, and Connor had pushed… well, okay, it wouldn't really make the situation any better, but the fact that he'd been the one pushing…

Spike shrugged. "I tried. But you were going on and on about how you didn't need Lindsey, and how he wasn't really all that good looking anyway, and how there's tonnes of blokes that would be lucky to have you, because even though you're a tad on the nerdy side, you give fantastic head."

"Oh, dear lord," Wesley said, voice pained, and he covered his face with his hands, hoping that when he removed them a few seconds later, that it would have all been a dream. Nightmare would probably be a better description.

"And then you asked Connor if he wanted a demonstration."

Wesley's jaw dropped and his eyes bugged out, a sense of utter mortification gripping him. "Oh, please, Spike," he begged. "Please tell me I didn't."

Spike laughed and picked up the television remote, flicking the channel over to auto racing. "Get a few beers in you, you're worse than a bloody girl, you are."

Wesley groaned and tossed his head back, the soft cushion of the backrest of the couch not providing nearly enough of a jolt on his skull to shake out of the recently acquired knowledge.

"Your secret crush on short dark and Texas isn't exactly a secret anymore, mate, so you'd better be ready for that at school tomorrow."

Wesley knocked his head back against the couch three more times without any greater success than the first time. "Oh, God. Oh, fuck."

Spike snickered. "I wouldn't worry about it. I'm sure you'll get real popular just as soon as everyone starts hearing about the great blow jobs."

"You're enjoying this far too much, you know," Wesley said to Spike, eyes narrowed and accusing.

"Yeah," Spike agreed, completely without guilt. "But Wes, pet, you just make it so easy!"

"You know, sooner or later," Wesley warned, "I'm going to get sick of you being such a jerk, and dump you on your ass."

Spike smiled knowingly and relaxed further the couch, fluffy cushions enveloping him as he cracked his neck and let his hands rest in his lap. "You never would."

Wesley didn't bother arguing. Spike would have seen right through it anyway

"You've gotta talk to Connor," Spike said, breaking the silence that had reigned for the last 10 minutes, as they mindlessly watched cars race around a track. His tone was no longer teasing or playful. He liked to give Connor a hard time, but he really did like him, and the boy was even more delicate than Wesley. "Kid probably thinks you're betrothed now, or something."

"What am I going to tell him?" Wesley asked, horrified at the thought of having to tell him anything at all. God, he'd been such a complete prat.

"The truth. That you're self-centered enough to have completely ignored his feelings in some crazy attempt to stop thinking about some guy who doesn't think about you back, and now that you've had your wicked way with him and taken away his innocence you'd appreciate it if he took a hike. But for Christ's sake, be gentle about it."

Okay, that was it. Wesley was never drinking again.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Monday morning at school didn't go as badly as Wesley had thought it would.

Sure there were a few people who'd obviously heard the news about his feelings for Lindsey and who snickered and nodded their heads toward him as he walked by and whispered to their friends, "that guy". But it was new gossip, and it would naturally be a hot topic for a little while, like all new gossip was, and nobody had actually said anything mean or nasty to him, so it was all to be expected, really.

For Wesley.

But when some guy in Lindsey's Algebra class asked if he was gay, Lindsey had found it odd. He wasn't. He had a girlfriend. Everybody knew that. And when a girl at lunch laughed and asked him how his new boyfriend was, Lindsey had started to get irritated. And when a boy in the washroom had teasingly offered him 5 bucks for a blow job, Lindsey had almost punched him.

He had no idea what was going on, but when he was on his way back from a washroom break and Spike passed him in the hall near the end of the day and winked at him, he was certain that whatever it was had something to do with the punk.

He dropped his books on the ground and lunged, grabbing Spike be the throat and using his superior strength to push him up against a wall of lockers with his right forearm across the blond's chest.

"Sorry," Spike laughed, using both of his hands to remove Lindsey's from his neck. "You're not really my type, Mary."

"What the _fuck_ is going on, Spike?" he ground out through clenched teeth, spittle hitting the smaller man in the neck.

"Are you serious?" Spike asked, disbelieving.

"Just tell me what the fuck you did to make everyone suddenly seem to think that I'm a fag."

"I didn't do anything, Lindsey," Spike told him honestly. "But you go around grinding up against other boys and pushing them into walls and people are gonna start to talk."

Lindsey gave Spike a hard shove in his chest with his arm but backed off a step. "I'm not fucking around, Spike," he said, voice equal parts pleading and angry. "What the hell is going on?"

Spike's eyes grew serious, searching Lindsey's face for any clue that he was just playing with him, but came up empty. Lindsey didn't seem to have a clue what everyone's problem was today, just that they seemed to have one. Fuck.

"I really don't think I should tell you," Spike said, a little bit of pleading in his own voice now. Wesley would be seriously pissed if he was the one to tell Lindsey how he felt.

"Well somebody's got to!" Lindsey barked, and looked around sheepishly to see if anybody heard him. It was a bit odd that he and Spike hadn't garnered an audience yet, but then again most people were in class, like they were supposed to be.

"Spike… please." God he hated to have to ask this jackass nicely.

Fuck. "Okay," Spike said and took a deep breath. "But I'm not doing it because I give a rat's arse about you, so don't go thinking we're best buddies now, or anything."

Lindsey puffed out a short breath of air. "As if."

"Right. You're gonna hear this sooner or later anyway, and it's probably in my best interest if whoever tells you doesn't twist it all around and just-"

"Just spit it the fuck out."

"Yeah, okay," Spike nodded and closed his eyes for a second to try to muster up the courage to stab a knife into his best friend's heart, via his back. "We had this party at our place on Saturday, see. And Wesley had had a few… okay a _dozen_ too many drinks, and he sort of let it slip, to about 25 people, that he might sort of have this secret fantasy that you'd throw him down over Mr Hastie's desk in homeroom, and go where only one man has gone before."

Lindsey's eyes slowly grew wider, and then became sort of a mix between confused and terrified. "He what?!" But on the flip side, all of Spike's little comments lately seemed to make a hell of a lot more sense under this new light.

"Look, it's not a big deal, really," Spike tried to defend his friend. "It's an innocent crush, and he knows you're straight. It's not like being gay is contagious through brainless infatuation."

"I know that," Lindsey spat, face contorting in anger all the same. Probably because Spike had just implied that Wesley was some sort of idiot for liking him.

Spike sort of had a point. It shouldn't be a big deal. Just because some guy had the hots for him, didn't mean that he had to feel the same way. There were plenty of girls that wanted him, and he wouldn't touch most of them with a 10 foot pole, so this shouldn't be any different.

Only it was, because the whole school knew that a guy was thinking about Lindsey like that. Thinking about his hair and his lips and his cock… Shit! And he couldn't decide whether he was more pissed about his reputation being sullied, or by the fact that he really wasn't as pissed off as he'd expected, finding out that he was the object another boy's fantasy.

It felt… weird. Different, but not entirely bad, and he couldn't help but feel a bit flattered to realise that he was a hit with both sexes. And the fact that his dick was twitching in his pants right now? That was because of his over-inflated ego, signalling his dick to get off on being wanted.

He considered telling Spike to tell Wesley to stay away from him, but that would have been ridiculous. Mostly because he and Wesley didn't even talk to each other anyway, but also because it wasn't as if Wesley was going to hold him down and grope him the next time he saw him, and Lindsey knew the best thing he could do was ignore the whole thing. If he didn't give people any reason to talk about him, then soon they wouldn't be any more.

"Fuck," he breathed out, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. No big deal."

"Wot? Really?" Spike was surprised he'd taken it so well.

"Yeah, like you said. Innocent crush. And it's not like I have to stick my dick inside everyone who wants me to."

"Right," Spike said, nodding but still not quite believing it had gone so easily. "But, Lindsey? Do me a favour?"

"I did you a favour when I didn't punch you in that pretty mouth of yours for being such a dickhead," Lindsey shot, smirking.

"Funny," Spike said, sounding like it was anything but. "No, just… Don't make him feel bad about it. Please. He's a good guy, and he hasn't done anything wrong."

Lindsey looked at Spike, heard what he said, and he suddenly wasn't angry anymore. He hadn't been planning on making Wesley feel bad. At least not consciously, but now that he thought about it he probably would have gone out of his way to avoid him, to avoid eye contact and having him on his team when they played football and going to his locker at any of the times he thought Wesley might be there.

He might not have said anything, but he'd have made him feel bad based on what would have been his natural reactions. There was no doubt about that. But he could be… nice… about it, if he tried. Or at least normal.

"Okay," Lindsey found himself saying. "I promise." And where the hell this sudden concern for someone he'd never cared enough about to ask 'how's it going?' when they happened to be in the same part of the school at the same time had come from, he didn't know.

And he sure as hell wasn't even going to entertain the notion that his sudden urge to be nice was because he didn't want to chance that Wesley would lose interest if he were to be an asshole. What did he care what Wesley thought of him? He wasn't interested anyway.

"Shit, I gotta get back to class," Lindsey mumbled, realising how long it had been since he'd gotten his washroom pass. Not that he'd be able to concentrate on much when he got back to his desk.

Spike just nodded, not saying anything, and watched as Lindsey turned and walked down the hall. That had really gone much better than he thought it would. Maybe getting this all out in the open would work out better for Wesley in the long run. He'd finally get it through his head that he didn't have a chance with Lindsey and be able to move on.

***

"Hey Wes," Lindsey said, nodding his head and smiling at the other boy.

"What?" Wesley squeaked, jumping slightly and bumping his elbow on the side of his locker. It was Tuesday morning and he was almost late for class, and Lindsey was talking to him! "I mean, hi!"

He knew that Lindsey had found out about his crush, and it was his own stupid fault for getting drunk and opening up his big fat mouth, and a part of him, or most of him, was expecting Lindsey to avoid him, threaten him, tell him to piss off. So when instead of any of that he'd gotten a moderately friendly greeting he'd been shocked to say the least.

Lindsey let out a small chuckle and the warmth in his expression grew. He'd never noticed it before, but Wesley was actually kind of… cute. Not in a sexy way, of course, but the way he got so flustered over nothing and the colour rising in his cheeks as Lindsey looked at him was really sort of endearing.

"Hey, sweetie!" a voice said from behind him and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

His heart was racing as he turned around to give Fred a quick kiss and told himself he had no reason to feel guilty. Talking to someone whose locker was almost right next to his while they were both getting their books together for class was completely innocent. Even if he knew that other person wanted to be in his girlfriend's place.

"Ready for class?" she asked, with that same sweet smile she always wore and Lindsey let his cheek glide across her forehead, emotion welling up in him like it always did when he was with her. She was amazing.

"Sure baby," he said, stepping back to close his locker.

He glanced over at Wesley and felt another spark of guilt when the boy didn't look back at him, face buried in a pile of notes and desperately pretending that he hadn't just seen the loving display between Lindsey and Fred. He wanted to say something else to him, but he couldn't think of anything appropriate, so he took Fred's hand and started off with her to Biology.

Wesley tried to be reasonable. It wasn't as if he was expecting Lindsey to suddenly dump his girlfriend and run off with him, so it shouldn't have hurt like it did to see them together, like he did almost every day.

But Lindsey had talked to him. Had been nice to him. And he really didn't have to, and it made Wesley inexplicably light-hearted. He sighed and smiled as Lindsey walked away. See? He just knew Lindsey was a really nice guy. And he still couldn't shake the feeling that they'd be perfect together, if Lindsey would give him a chance.

***

Tuesday night seemed to be going pretty well for Lindsey, so far. Much better than Monday had, anyway.

He groaned and gripped his girlfriend's hips tighter through the thin cotton of her pants and pulled her toward him, and pushed his own pelvis up as much as he could while being straddled in the front seat of his pick-up.

She let out the sexiest little gasp as the outline of his erection rubbed against her pussy, and Lindsey would have given almost anything to hear the sounds she would make if they didn't have so damned much clothing in the way.

He thought she'd sound absolutely beautiful if she'd let him throw her down in the backseat, hook her knees over his shoulders and eat the crotch out of her panties. Fuck, he'd probably make some noises too, if he could taste her, feel her, slip his fingers inside, and then his cock.

He rocked her against him again, breath catching slightly at the pressure and motion over his dick, and slipped a hand up under her t-shirt, strong fingers moving confidently over the smooth skin of her ribs.

She kissed him, lips soft and yielding and he took that as permission to go a little further. He tried not to get too excited just yet, though. She never let it go _much_ further. He moved his hand a little, slipped his thumb upward to rub circles over her hardening nipple through her bra, and this time it was Fred who pushed down, moved back and forth and squirmed around on Lindsey's lap, trying to keep up the delicious contact.

Lindsey got a bit braver then, and moved both of his hands to the hem of her shirt, sliding the material up slowly. She stopped kissing him then, and for a second he was worried, but she only smiled and helped him pull her shirt up and over her head before bending back down to join their lips together yet again.

He didn't waste any time finding the clasp at the front of her bra and snapping it open with a quick flick of his fingers, and he moaned as her pert little breasts bounced out into his palms. He worked them for a while with his hands, fingers tickling over the flesh and lightly circling and pinching the nipples, and then he eased her back just a bit, mouth separating from his own and he looked up at her, licking his lips.

She reached forward with her sweet little hands and slid them around the base of his neck, pulling his head forward so that he was right where he wanted to be. He cupped her left breast in both of his hands and stuck out his tongue, swiping it across the dark bud, and when she shivered and circled her hips again he covered it with his mouth, and sucked.

He kept at it for a while, both of them greatly enjoying themselves, until he slipped the tips of his fingers inside the front of her pants, and she pulled back with an embarrassed smile.

"It's gettin' pretty late, Lindsey," she told him, glancing at the clock on the dash. It was true, but they both knew that wasn't the only reason she wanted to stop.

She liked Lindsey. A lot. He was cute and sweet strong and a real gentleman, and the things they did together felt really good. And she wanted to do more, but when it came time, it just never felt right. It would one day, she was sure, and when it did, she'd know it.

Lindsey sighed in frustration and flopped back against the driver's seat as Fred climbed off and righted her clothing.

"Fine," he said, adjusting his aching dick and buckling his seat belt before starting the car and driving off.

"Don't be mad," she said, sounding very small. She hated to get him upset, and she really did understand how it could be frustrating for him, but she wasn't going to let anybody push her into anything she wasn't ready for. And Lindsey had told her that he'd respect her boundaries, and so far he had. He was a lot better than most guys she heard about from her girlfriends.

"I'm not mad," Lindsey reassured her, turning out of the park and onto the street. "Really, babe." He wasn't mad. He was a bit on edge, but he'd get over it. He tried to get over it quickly, reached across the gear shift to hold his girl's hand and smiled at her, because he didn't want to ever make her feel bad about knowing what she wanted. Or didn't want. There was nothing for her to feel about.

She smiled back and squeezed his hand, and after a few minutes they arrived at her house. Lindsey stopped the car at the curb and she leaned over to give him a quick kiss before getting out of the car.

"Night!" she said, as her lips left his.

"Night babe," he answered, and drove off. Fuck, his dick hurt.

***

Tuesday night also seemed to be going pretty well for Wesley. For a while.

He gasped and swore and his eyelids fluttered shut as he wrapped his tight fist around his prick. He squeezed and released his fingers several times, working his hand up and down over the shaft, skin easily gliding over lubricated skin.

He pictured Lindsey; what he would look like, lying here on his bed, naked, like Wesley was, his dick hard and begging to be touched. He pictured himself, reaching out to touch it, work it like he was his own, fingers brushing across the head to smear the pre-cum around, and coat the entire thing.

He pictured Lindsey's hand on him, and his on Lindsey, and he worked himself to the fantasy, letting out tiny little moans of pleasure every time his leaking cock pulsed in his hand, silently weeping for Lindsey's touch. Not that it would get it.

He could feel himself getting close to orgasm, but he didn't want it to be over so soon, so he slipped his hand lower, slippery fingers pawing at his balls, rolling them around and messaging. It still felt good. Incredibly good. But the imminent need to shoot his load was passing, and as he fondled himself lazily, he let his mind drift.

It didn't drift far, as he knew it wouldn't, but rather than thinking about Lindsey jerking him or blowing him or, dear lord, fucking him, he just thought about Lindsey. About the way he looked, and the way he sounded, and the way he smiled.

About the first day they'd met, in 7th grade, when Wesley had hardly noticed him at all, so scared was he about being somewhere so foreign. About the first day of school this year, just a couple of months ago, when he'd suddenly realised how spectacular Lindsey looked when he swung a bat, or how sexy he was when he played his guitar, and Wesley had desperately wanted to know what those fingers would feel like playing him instead.

Shit he was starting to get close again, and he wasn't going to be able to hold back this time. He didn't want to. He moved his hand back up, fingers clenching around his erection and began to pump, hard and fast. His other hand went to his chest, thumb and forefinger pinching his nipple, hard, and he cried out silently as the sharp pain brought his release closer.

Just a few more strokes, and…

"Wesley!" he heard his father call from outside his room.

Shit! He immediately let go of his cock, trying not to cry out for an entirely different reason as he was denied his orgasm, and panicked, reaching for a blanket to cover himself up with. His father never came into his room without knocking, but he wasn't exactly thinking straight at the moment.

"Yes father?" he answered, trying to catch his breath and sound normal.

"Telephone."

Wesley sighed in relief and collapsed back on his bed, picking up the receiver on the table next to him.

"Hello?" he answered, and then heard the click of his father hanging up the extension. "Oh," he said after a beat. "Connor. Hi."

He hung up the phone several minutes later and threw his blanket off, looking down at his unaffected erection, looking back up at him, mocking him. He knew he wasn't going to finish his wank now. Not after that phone call.

Not only had he not had the talk with Conner that he was supposed to have, too distracted by his arousal and the other boy's slightly nervous prattle about what a good time he'd had the other night and how much he hated his mother's tuna casserole, but Wesley had agreed to have lunch with him the following day.

And Connor probably thought it was a date.

Oh well. He'd just have to talk with him tomorrow and set him straight. So to speak.

He climbed out of bed and slipped into a pair of pyjama bottoms before grabbing his French book off his desk and settling in for some studying. That would surely help to soften up his dick.

***

Almost 12 hours later, Wesley tried his best not to be nervous or uncomfortable, and pasted an awkward smile on his face when he saw Connor heading down the hall toward the lunchroom doors, where Wesley was waiting.

"Connor," he greeted, with a little tilt of his head. "Shall we?"

"Hi Wesley," Connor said, ducking his own head down to hide his face a little bit behind his hair. "Sure."

They both turned to head in through the set of double doors, and as they did, Connor quickly looked around to make sure that nobody was paying them any particular attention, and then surprised Wesley with the briefest of kisses on the side of his face.

Wesley turned to face him, startled, and Connor looked away, the tips of his ears colouring.

Damn, the kid really was quite sweet, and Wesley had never had to break up with anyone before, not that that's what this was, exactly, as they weren't really a couple, but the idea was basically the same. And Wesley didn't know what to say, or how to say it, or how not to sound like a complete idiot about the whole thing, and most importantly, didn't know how not to break someone's heart.

For probably the 20th time in the past 5 days Wesley really wished he could hold his liquor better.

They sat together, Connor just a little bit too close to Wesley at the picnic-bench style table for him to feel entirely comfortable 'letting him down easy', and took bites of sandwiches and sips of water and crunched on apples, and offered each other the occasional tentative glance.

"Connor, I…"

"So, I was thinking…"

They both began at the same time, and chuckled a bit. Connor had been about to ask Wesley if he'd like to come over to his place this weekend so that they could spend some time alone together, but Wesley would never know that. Wesley, of course, had been about to tell Connor that he didn't really like him that way, and no doubt bollocks the whole thing up, but luckily, or perhaps not, he never got the chance.

"Well, look at the love birds," Faith teased as she sat down next to Wesley and picked up the uneaten half of his sandwich, stuffing most of it into her mouth in one bite.

"I hope you two aren't going to have sex again," Anya added as she took a seat across from the other three. "Watching other people have sex makes me want to have sex, and I can't have any right now. Xander wouldn't like it."

Her boyfriend Xander was out of town for the semester with his parents, staying with his aunt and cousins in Nevada while his uncle Rory went to rehab. She doubted it would take, but Xander kept insisting that the third time would be the charm.

Wesley ignored Anya and Connor puffed up a little at her words, feeling sort of stupidly proud that people knew he wasn't a virgin anymore.

"What are you even doing here?"Wesley asked Faith, yanking what was left of his lunch out of her hand. "You don't go to school."

She shrugged and took the sandwich back from him, grabbing a carrot stick while she was at it. "I do get hungry, though."

He gave up, not bothering to tell her to go and get her own lunch, and pushed the rest of his vegetables across the table to her, knowing from experience that when Faith was around he didn't get to eat very much anyway.

"Seen Spike?" she asked, mouth full of celery.

"No," Wesley sighed, resigned to not being able to have his conversation with Connor now. It was probably better, anyway. He should really make some notes, maybe rehearse a little first. "He's probably having a cigarette, or in Snyder's office. Or possibly having a cigarette _in_ Snyder's office. But he'll probably be here soon."

"Cool," Faith said, kicking her feet up on the table in front of her and snatching one of the cookies Anya had taken out of her lunch bag. "So, kid," she said, looking at Connor. "About that backbeat in 'Demon Slayer'…"

***

"I don't know how you can manage to eat that garbage and yet keep such a great little figure."

"Oh my _God_!" Fred squeaked, and jumped, holding her tray of tacos tightly as she exited the line in the cafeteria and turned around. "Spike! You scared the livin' hell out of me!"

Spike jumped back from whispering in Fred's ear in order to avoid a chest full of ground beef and salsa. He smirked at her. "How you doin' pet?"

"Oh, good!" she told him enthusiastically. "Biology class this morning was so much fun! We got to dissect this mouse, and Cordy thought it was so gross, but we could actually see the little heart and the stomach and the lungs and stuff, and it was so cool!"

Spike snickered, thinking it was an odd sort of bird that could talk about animal guts over a plate of tacos, but then he'd always had a bit of a thing for odd. He knew she was Lindsey's girl, and even though he might want to steal her away, and was pretty confident that he could, it wasn't his style. Alright, fine it usually was, but not this time. He'd content himself with worshipping her from afar and getting rocks off elsewhere for the time being.

Of course if things between her and Lindsey went tits up all on their own, well, he'd worry about that when it happened.

"You wanna sit down and tell me all about the large intestine over lunch?" he offered, gesturing to an empty end of a table nearby.

"Sure," she answered, trying not to feel guilty over having lunch with another boy. It wasn't like she was going to kiss Spike, or go out on a date with him, even if he was really cute, and so cool, and could probably score some awesome weed. He was just a friend. A nice, sweet, funny, really hot friend.

"Oh!" she said, just as he started to walk toward the table. "But you don't have any lunch!"

He looked around briefly and swiped a hoagie off some random guy's lunch tray and held it up, victorious. "Do now!" he said cheerfully, ignoring the boy's useless protests, and Fred rolled her eyes at Spike's little stunt as they went to sit down together.

***

Lunch hour had ended five minutes ago, and Wesley and Connor were late for their classes. Faith had finally stopped arguing with Connor about his choice of tempo for a couple of their songs and had left and Anya had headed off to study hall.

"I'll see you later, Conner," Wesley said when they were uncomfortably alone again, and started to head off toward his classroom.

"No, wait," Conner shouted after him.

Wesley closed his eyes for a second and then turned back around. He really didn't want to have to rush this, and he really was late for class. "Yes?"

"I just…" Connor started. "I was thinking that we could-"

"I'm sorry," Wesley interrupted. "It's just that I really have to… go," he said nodding toward the washroom, and thanking his lucky stars that they were standing next to it and he could use that as an excuse. "I'll call you later, alright?"

"Sure," Connor told him, and smiled so warmly that it almost broke Wesley's heart, but he bolted into the men's before he had to look into those eyes any longer.

As soon as the door swung shut behind him he collapsed against the wall of the nearest stall, hand covering his face as he took a deep breath, and told himself it wasn't that bad.

He was almost starting to believe that when he felt a warmth in front of him, and lips on his neck. He would have panicked if he hadn't half expected Connor to follow him. He groaned and craned his head back, taking hold of Connor's arms and gently pushing him away.

"Connor," he said half pleading. "I don't think-"

"Shhh," Connor told him, covering Wesley's mouth with a finger, and kissing him again on the neck. "Nobody's here. It's just us." He let his tongue slip through his lips to lick across Wesley's neck and collar bone, and when he felt him relax a bit under his touch he cupped his groin forcefully with his right hand.

"Shit!" Wesley said, but pushed forward into the touch. "Connor, you really-"

"I told you," he said, in a much more seductive tone than Wesley could ever remember hearing. :Shhh."

And then he dropped to his knees.

Wesley didn't say anything as Connor opened up his pants and slid the zipper down, reaching into his boxers and taking out his half-hard cock. He grunted and jerked and shook his head when Connor pumped it a few times in his dry fist before opening his mouth wide and swallowing him down.

"Oh fuck! Oh God!" he said when Connor began to give his very first blowjob, even though inside what he was thinking was more like 'fuck no' and 'please don't'.

This wasn't helping anything, Wesley knew, but it just felt so damned good, and Connor looked so pretty down there on his knees, and Wesley felt such a surge of lust and domination that he just couldn't help himself.

He grabbed Connor's head gently with both of his hands and began to rock his hips slightly. Yes, oh, that was it. "Ugh," he grunted. "Yes, Connor. Just like that."

Connor lapped the praise up like Wesley knew he would and opened his mouth wider and sucked harder and allowed Wesley to thrust into him harder and faster. He wasn't being as gentle as he was when Connor let him make love to him last Saturday, but that was okay, because Connor knew he was wanted.

Wesley started to move faster, gripped Connor tighter, and shoved himself so far inside that the boy began to choke just a little, and that only made Wesley want to do it more.

"Yes!" he screamed as he neared the end, Connor gasping and drooling around him. "Shit, Connor, take it! Yes!" And his orgasm, when it came wasn't nearly as satisfying as he thought it would be. Oh, it had been great, there was no doubt about that, but… He looked down at Connor, not yet 16 and hopelessly in lust, and coughing and smiling and licking Wesley's cum from his lips, and knew he was going straight to hell.

"Get up," Wesley said, softly, and Conner obeyed. He'd do anything Wes told him to. He cupped Connor's face in his hands and brought the boy close. "Thank you," he said, and kissed him on the mouth, because really, what else could he do?

'_I love you'_ Connor wanted to say, but knew it was too soon, so settled for just smiling and wrapping his arms around Wesley.

***

Spike was pretty good at reading people, but he wouldn't have had to be to realise that Wesley hadn't had that talk with Connor like he'd said he would.

The normally sullen and moody boy had been all smiles and wise cracks and lame jokes at practice that night, and Spike had caught him, more than once, with his eyes wandering to the staircase that led up into the rest of the house. The house that Wesley lived in.

He didn't really need Faith's comment about heading off after lunch and leaving the two of them together to work out that Wesley had done something to lead Connor on, rather than dissuade him, but it helped.

And he also didn't need to be a genius to see that while Lindsey had been doing his best to be polite to Wesley, he wasn't treating Spike to the same considerations. He had been getting dirty looks and mumbled insults and once Lindsey had 'accidentally' elbowed him in the ribs as they passed in the hall.

Spike figured it probably had equal parts to do with his for shit attitude, the news about Wesley, and the fact that he was spending some time with Lindsey's girlfriend.

If anyone had asked Spike, which he knew they wouldn't, but if they had, Lindsey and Wesley were both acting like complete jerks, and somebody needed to give them both a little kick in the ass. He smiled as he looked at the student notice board outside Principal Snyder's office, and took down one of the index cards just before his weekly appointment with the big guy.

He had an idea.

***  
TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Lindsey coasted his pick-up down the street and came to a stop along the curb just outside Fred's house. It was Thursday afternoon and school had ended an hour ago, and after 45 minutes of sitting on the hill next to the football field out back of the school and holding hands, trading innocent kisses and absently watching the Sunnydale Razorbacks warm up, Lindsey had driven his girlfriend home.

"You sure you can't come tonight?" she asked him again, expression slightly hopeful but mostly resigned. They'd planned to go out bowling with a few friends, and if Lindsey didn't come then Fred would be the only single. It wasn't a big deal, really, but it always made her feel a bit out of place on the rare occasions that everyone was paired off but her.

"Sorry, baby," he said, left arm crossing the car to brush a lock of hair behind her ear. Her face was so pretty, it was a shame when anything covered it up. "I can't. My daddy'll kill me if I skip out on this fucked up history tutorial. Especially the first day."

Lindsey had told her all about how his father was forcing him to get help until his grade improved, and she'd laughed almost as much as Angel had when he'd told him. The last person that needed any sort of academic help was Lindsey.

"So, who's going to be tutoring you?" she asked, suppressing laughter.

He smiled. "Don't know. All Snyder said was that he found someone and they were coming over tonight at 8."

"Well, good luck, sweetie," she told him, then leaned across the cabin to kiss him. It turned into more than either of them had intended, with tongues and hands and growing desire, and almost five minutes later she was practically climbing into the driver's seat with him to get closer.

The gear shift poked her painfully in the hip mid-position change, and she pulled back, blushing and licking her lips. Lindsey panted lightly and resisted the urge to pull her across and continue what they'd been doing, but it was the middle of the day and they were just outside Fred's parents house, so instead he looked up at her through his lowered lashes and grinned, wiping a stray bit of spit from the corner of her mouth with his thumb.

"I'll miss you tonight," she said, reaching down to grab her school bag from the floor.

"I miss you every night," he answered and her blush grew as he kissed the tips of his own fingers before pressing them to her forehead.

"Fuck," Lindsey swore under his breath, and pounded the steering wheel lightly with his palms after Fred had closed the truck door behind her and walked up the path to her front door.

He waited until she turned around and waved at him before waving back and then started the five minute drive back to his own house. This was such bullshit. He had to give up two hours a night, two nights a week to sit around and pretend to learn something he already knew, with someone that principal Snyder considered 'smart'. Shit, he was not looking forward to it.

The house was quiet when he came in through the front door, but that wasn't really surprising. He dropped his bag in the foyer, kicked off his shoes a padded through the hallway, past the living room and into the kitchen. It didn't seem like anybody was home, not that he'd expected anybody to be.

His dad spent most of his time working, and his stepmother was far too busy enjoying her early 20's to put in much of appearance at home when his dad wasn't there to make it worth her while. She usually made him breakfast every morning, and kissed him goodbye when he left for school, and really liked being called 'mom', but the chances of him seeing her any other time that hadn't been scheduled was slim.

There was a note on the table, plain white paper filled with cute little letters printed out in bright blue ink and he picked it up.

_Dear Lindsey,_

_You're father won't be home tonight, and I'll probably be home late. Have fun with your little friend. There's lasagne in the fridge. _

_Love, mom._

He sighed and rolled his eyes fondly, opened up the fridge and tossed the clear plastic container filled with his dinner into the microwave.

***

"You've been ignoring me all week," Spike said after he'd pushed open the door to Wesley's bedroom and plopped down onto the foot of his bed, back resting against the wall and his feet crossed over each other on the blanketed mattress.

Wesley closed the book he'd been reading and placed it down on the table next to his bed. "No, I haven't," he disagreed, and scooted up a bit so that he was half sitting against his headboard, facing Spike.

"Yes, you have, Wes," Spike insisted and lifted one of his legs to nudge his friend playfully in the calf. "We live together, go to the same school, have pretty much the same friends, and I haven't seen you since Sunday. What's going on?"

Spike knew exactly what was going on, but he could play innocent. Sometimes. When it suited him.

"I'm sorry, Spike," Wesley said, shaking his head and sitting up even straighter. "I've just had a lot on my mind lately." That, and he didn't want to have to tell Spike what he'd done to Connor. He felt horrible about it, and it was going to be so much harder for him to tell him the truth and end things, now that he had to admit that there was something to end.

Spike snorted. "Like the fact that Lindsey knows you want to have his babies and the fact Connor thinks he wants to have yours?"

"Yes, that's very helpful," Wesley said, sarcastic. "Thank you."

"Always here to help. Look, I'm sure you'll work it all out," Spike said, getting up and patting Wesley on his bare foot. "But I've gotta go. I'm heading over to Faith's place to meet her and Connor and go over our set once more."

_Hellmouth_ was playing at the Bronze that night, actually getting paid, which didn't happen more than once every couple of months, and they were pretty excited about it. Of course, they'd probably spend all the money they made on pizza and beer and some new piece of electronic equipment before the end of the weekend, but none of them was really in it for the money anyway.

Spike just had to phone home to England and his parents, who were rather something in the business world, would send over all the money he needed.

Connor lived with his folks, and was only 15 years old, and the only things he needed money for were the exact things he spent it on.

Faith, on the other hand, in order to keep herself in tinned soup and dried pasta, had to hold down two other jobs; working nights in a convenience store and days at the public Library. It seemed an odd choice or work from most peoples perspectives, but she liked the quiet.

"Alright," Wesley said, visibly relieved that Spike was going to leave him alone. "Good luck. I suppose I'll go grab something to eat and meet you at the Bronze later?"

Spike smiled that smile that made the bottom of Wesley's stomach fall out, because it meant that Spike was up to something. "Sorry, Wes. You're busy tonight."

"What do you mean, 'I'm busy'?" Wesley asked, panic increasing.

"Well," Spike said, thinking about how he should really take his time when he explained it. It was going to be so much fun, after all. "Since you've been doing so well in history I decided to sign you up to tutor some poor moron who can't seem to manage a passing grade."

Wesley deflated and made the face of a kid who's just been told to put on a nice outfit because they're going to see their 90 year old grandmother in the nursing home.

"Spike, you didn't." He was pretty sure than Spike did, but it was worth a shot, hoping he was only kidding.

"Oh, I did." He was ridiculously pleased with himself.

"You can't, can you?" Wesley asked. He was pretty sure that if he was going to tutor someone, he'd have to agree to it first. Not that he was going to because he really didn't do well with most people.

"Seems I can," Spike said still smiling. "I told Snyder you were looking for something a little extra to put on your college applications, which I know is complete bullshit, since you've practically got the highest grades in school, but apparently it was good enough for him, because you're starting tonight."

"What the hell possessed you to do this? If I wanted to be involved in the tutoring program I'd have volunteered. You know that."

"Well, this is a special case," Spike said, eyes glowing with mischief. "I'm sure you'd have signed right up if you'd known about it."

"What do you mean," Wesley asked, cautiously curious. Spike was acting very strange, and it was making him more than a little apprehensive.

"Seems that one 'Lindsey MacDonald' is in need of someone with a big, giant brain to help teach him a little something about Christopher Columbus or the American Revolution or whatever the hell they learn in these shite schools."

Wesley felt his heart speed up, and he was worried, for just about a second, that it would beat right out of his chest. "You're not serious."

"Why not? Like I said, looks great on the college apps, and you get to spend some one on one time with your sweetie!"

"Spike, fuck off! There is no way I'm…" Wesley trailed off, anger having reaching it's peak and starting to be replaced by despair. "How could you do this to me?"

Well, shit. It was supposed to be a little bit funny and a little bit of a way to get back at Wesley and at Lindsey for what dicks they'd been lately, but Wesley looked close to tears and Spike never could handle it when he knew that Wesley's feelings had been hurt.

Wesley was his best friend, Wesley confided in him, trusted him, and he wanted to kick himself, just a bit, for apparently going a little too far.

He walked over to Wesley's side of the bed and pulled him up to standing with one arm. "Wes," he said, simply, before pulling the brunet to him and wrapping his arms around him loosely, for only a second, and kissing him on the side of the head.

Wesley hugged back, just as briefly, because they didn't usually show that much affection, even if they felt it, and Spike chuckled before giving Wesley a shove backward.

He felt bad, but not that bad. Really, it would be good for him, in the end. It would help him to realise that Lindsey was an actual person, a straight person, a person with a girlfriend, and not just the being of deluded sexual fantasy that Wesley had elevated him to. Also, it would be funny.

"Stop being such a girl," he teased.

"I'm not doing it, Spike," Wesley insisted. "You'll have to call Snyder or… or Lindsey, or whatever and tell them to forget it."

"Fine," Spike shrugged. "I'll just call Lindsey up and tell him you won't be there because you can't handle your love for him, and you can come with me to the gig tonight and have that talk with Connor."

Wesley scowled, irritated that Spike had made two very good arguments for him going through with this ridiculous set-up, but the arguments were good enough that they kept him quiet.

"You're so going to owe me for this," Wesley mumbled, falling back down onto his bed.

"Oh, come on, Wes," Spike said, eyes dancing. "it's not so bad."

Wesley thought that remained to be seen. In any case, he didn't have much choice at the moment. "Fine," he said, rolling his eyes. "But you're not even close to off the hook for this."

"Whatever you say, Wes," Spike answered. "Give Lindsey a great big smooch for me, eh?"

He laughed and managed to make it out of the bedroom just before Wesley's pillow collided with the recently closed door behind him.

***

Wesley pulled his father's Volvo into the driveway of Lindsey's home.

He took a minute to collect himself, right hand absently straying over to the passenger seat to make sure he had his backpack, filled with his history notes, and text and an excessive number of pens and highlighters.

He could do this. He could absolutely do this. He wouldn't stumble all over his own tongue and stare like a love-sick puppy and avoid Lindsey's eyes and beg the other boy to take him right there in the doorway.

Lindsey had been pretty nice to him since he'd found out about Wesley's crush, and if he had agreed to this, then he would probably continue to be nice to him, so Wesley really had nothing to worry about.

Right. He nodded.

That decided, he got out of the car, bag thrown over one shoulder and marched as bravely as he could manage, up the driveway and to the front door.

He took a breath, knocked and waited.

***

Lindsey heard the knock at the door and flicked off the television, getting up from the living room couch to go and answer it. It was exactly 8:00 and whoever the hell Snyder had found for him was irritatingly punctual.

He really didn't want to do this, but he supposed that bitching about it in his own head wasn't going to get him anywhere, so he might as well just open the door, paste on a smile, and get this shit over with.

The knob twisted in his hand and the door wrenched open under the force of his pull, and he came face to face with Wesley. Wesley, who he'd recently discovered harboured secret, illicit fantasies about him, and who he had been trying to make nice with even though it was a little weird, and who apparently didn't care that he wasn't gay and had a girlfriend because he'd decided that showing up at Lindsey's house was a good idea for some probably completely fucked up reason.

"Hello, Lindsey," Wesley said, proud of himself for sounding so calm.

"Wes," Lindsey started. "What the hell are you doing here?" Now was so not the time for a little bit of friendly stalking. Not with his tutor on the way, to see Wesley there and start another round of rumours.

"What do you mean?" Wesley asked, face contorted in confusion. "I was under the impression you were aware I was coming by tonight."

"Uh… what for?" Lindsey was aware that good manners dictated that he should have invited Wesley in by now, regardless of the reason for his visit, but he wasn't paying any attention to that at the moment.

"For helping you out with history?" Wesley asked, as if it were a question, and cursed himself not being more self-assured.

Lindsey blinked, twice and shook his head. That possibility hadn't even occurred to him, and he was kicking himself now for being so rude and not putting two and together in the first place.

"Fuck, sorry," he said, stepping back from the entryway. "Come on in."

"No, I…" Wesley said, losing any of the braveness that he might have mustered. "You clearly weren't expecting me. I'll go." If Spike had made this whole thing up as some sort of incredibly mean, incredibly not funny, practical joke, Wesley was going to kill him.

"No," Lindsey assured him, trying to sound welcoming, even though he wasn't exactly feeling that way. Just because Wesley had a legitimate reason for being there at the moment didn't mean he didn't take the tutoring gig just to get close to him. "No, it's just Snyder didn't tell me who was coming over, just that somebody was. Come in. Really."

Wesley looked sceptical but followed Lindsey into the house anyway.

"Well, we're in the same boat then," he said as Lindsey took his jacket and hung it up in the hall closet. "Spike signed me up for this," he said at Lindsey's questioning look. "Didn't tell me about it until three hours ago. Prick."

They stood in the hall, not looking at each other but pretending that it wasn't on purpose, for several long seconds as Lindsey tried to mentally size up Wesley's motives and decide whether or not he was telling the truth about Spike, and Wesley tried to will a giant hole to suddenly appear in the floor and swallow him up.

"I should really go," Wesley finally said. "I'm sure you'd be much more comfortable with someone else helping you. I'm sorry I… Sorry."

Lindsey was half tempted to let him go, but he was already here and the big orange sticky note outside the principal's office that announced how stupid Lindsey was had been taken down now, and if Wesley left it would just go right back up again until someone else answered the ad.

And he was pretty sure that Wesley probably wasn't lying. Throwing the two of them together like this without any warning sounded a hell of a lot like something Spike would do. Or, he thought it did. He didn't really know him all that well, but from what he did know, Spike was an ass.

"Stay," Lindsey insisted, offering a half smile. "You're as good anybody else, right?"

"Er… I suppose," was Wesley's less than confidant reply. "So. Where should we sit?"

Lindsey led him in to the kitchen where he nodded at one sturdy oak chair indicating that Wes should sit down, and took a seat of his own on the opposite side of the table.

"This alright?" Lindsey asked, pushing back in his chair and stretching out his legs crossing his ankles over each other.

"Um, sure," Wesley answered, frowning. He opened up his book bag and started to pull out some notes, trying desperately not to think about the way Lindsey's voice sounded in his ears, rough and smooth and sexy. He looked back up at him, and wondered out loud, "Where are your books?"

Lindsey smiled and drummed a random pattern on the wood of the table with his thumbs. "I don't need any."

Now that he'd spent more than 30 seconds in Lindsey's company and said more than 10 words to him in one stretch, the boy was starting to remind him an awful lot of Spike. No wonder he'd developed such a crush.

"If that's how you've been studying than it's a small wonder that you need help," Wesley told him, coming off as slightly superior even though he didn't mean it that way. He couldn't help it. It was what he did.

Lindsey let out a small laugh and shook his head. Wesley was... actually sort of cute. And there was that stupid-ass thought again. "No," he said. "I don't need any books, because I'm not actually gonna study."

Wesley looked at him quizzically and just about managed not to mentally unbutton Lindsey's long-sleeved burgundy shirt. "Then what am I doing here?" The idea that this was some sort of joke hadn't gone far from Wesley's thoughts, and he was tense, waiting for the punch line.

"I know all about history," Lindsey told him. "I probably know more about it than you do. I'm not stupid, and I don't need anybody's help with anything even remotely academic."

"Again, I ask," Wesley said, becoming frustrated. "Why am I here?"

"I'm getting a D in history," Lindsey started to explain, and Wesley's face was still a question. "It's only because I haven't been bothered to actually hand in any of the shitty-ass assignments the teacher gets off on so much, but my daddy says I have to get a tutor until my grade turns into a B. And that'll happen as soon as I ace the final exam."

"So, I'm supposed to do what, exactly?" Wesley asked him.

"Hang out with me twice a week and pretend we're actually getting some work done to get my dad off my case."

Spend two nights a week with Lindsey until the end of the semester and not even have to do any schoolwork while he did? It was like a dream come true for Wesley! He stopped himself from jumping up and shouting his agreement, just barely, and instead just pushed his books back into his bag and nodded.

"Alright," he said. "I guess I could do that. Since, you know, I'll get to put it on my college applications anyway, whether we actually study or not."

Lindsey smiled. Sure. That was why Wesley had agreed so quickly. It couldn't possibly have anything to do with the way the other boy's eyes kept drifting down his neck and over his chest, practically burning a hole through his shirt.

Almost another minute passed in silence, both of them alternating their gazes between the table top, Wesley's bag and their own hands. It was fucking awkward.

Lindsey had never had a problem finding something to say before, never felt out of place with a boy his own age, in his own home, but he'd also never been alone with a boy that wanted to have sex with him before. At least, not that he knew about. And it was kind of throwing off his usual air of calm, cool and collected.

Wesley wasn't usually one to keep his mouth shut, preferring to prattle on endlessly about things that most people didn't care about, and make no secret of the fact that he knew a lot more about those things than others. But, even if it was an exercise in futility, he was hoping to impress Lindsey, and opening his mouth probably wouldn't accomplish that tonight.

"Do you want something to drink?" Lindsey offered, for lack of anything better to say.

Wesley's head snapped up at the question that abruptly pulled him from his thoughts. "No, thank you," he answered with a tight smile and looked down to where his fingers were playing over the zipper of his bag.

Another minute passed.

"Something to eat?"

"Thanks, I'm fine."

Another minute.

"Look, this is dumb," Lindsey pointed out, and Wesley couldn't help but agree. "You can leave if you really want." Lindsey knew he would just have to find someone else to not stare at across the table but it couldn't be any worse than this.

"No!" Wesley blurted, and mentally swore at himself. "I mean, no. I agreed to help." This was painful, but now that the opportunity was there, he was looking forward to spending some time with Lindsey. Also, he thought that if he left now, like this, he would look like ten kinds of fool in front the boy he so desired, with likely no chance of ever making up for it.

"And I appreciate that, Wes. Really," Lindsey told him. "But we can't spend two nights a week for the next month and a half staring at our shoes, can we?" The way his eyes twinkled with humour took some of the sting out of his words, but not all of it.

"Yes, sorry, you're right," Wesley said, feeling entirely foolish. "It's just... I suppose I feel a bit awkward. We don't even know each other." _Yes, that, and it's hard to feel comfortable when the person sitting across from you knows that you want to suck their brains out through their cock. _

Lindsey quirked an eyebrow and held out his hand to Wesley across the table. "Hi," he said, warm and friendly. "I'm Lindsey."

"Funny," Wesley said, deadpan, but took Lindsey's hand anyway. It was the first time they'd touched. Ever. And it was entirely underwhelming. Wesley didn't know what he had been expecting; sparks, fireworks, him swooning like a little girl, but Lindsey's hand felt like anybody else's ever had.

It was prettier of course, and more calloused on the fingers from playing guitar, and it was attached to Lindsey, so that gave it a huge advantage over most, but on the whole, it was completely average.

Wesley wasn't sure why, but suddenly he felt a lot better about things.

They spent the remaining hour and 45 minutes getting to know each other in that sort of trivial way that people did when they were mostly just trying to be polite. The conversation wasn't exactly strained, but neither of them felt comfortable opening up about anything personal so they stuck to the basics.

They talked about school, and what teachers they liked and didn't. They talked about their friends, and their hobbies, Lindsey's band and Wesley's books. They talked about music and movies and the beat up old house down the road that some of the kids said was haunted. And they talked about how each of them came to by living in Sunnydale.

Wesley told Lindsey about his parent's divorce, and how his father worked in advertising had to travel around California quite a bit, so Sunnydale was as good a place as any to end up, considering he wasn't home half the time anyway.

Lindsey told Wesley about his daddy being a lawyer and getting a promotion in LA, so they'd moved in from Texas. He'd met and married Lindsey's stepmom and wanted to keep them both a safe distance from Wolfram and Hart for some reason, probably so he could get away with sleeping at the office so often, but Lindsey didn't really know, so they'd ended up in Sunnydale.

The evening actually rolled on pretty smoothly, considering how it had started out. Wesley was happy not to be making an arse of himself, and Lindsey was pleasantly surprised that when Wesley got to talking and forgot about being nervous, he wasn't nearly as much as a dweeb as Lindsey, and everyone else, thought he was.

Lindsey didn't want to admit it, but he'd caught himself, once, and only for a short time, as Wesley assured him there was no such thing as ghosts, and anyone who thought there was, was in serious need of psychiatric help, that Wesley was actually pretty good looking.

Under his geeky exterior, the too-short hair, the over-starched shirts and the glasses, he was probably a seriously hot little bastard.

But the thought hadn't lasted for long before Lindsey forced himself to think of something else. Just because the guy wanted him, didn't mean he had to go and start reciprocating.

Ten o'clock came just fast enough for both of them, and as soon the two hours was up, Wesley was halfway out the door, wanting to get to his car and get home. It hadn't been that bad, really, but they were both kind of glad that it was over. At least until Monday.

***

"Hey baby," Lindsey said into the receiver as he sprawled out on the couch in the living room, tossing the remote control for the television around in his hand. "How was bowling?"

"Oh, it was fun!" Fred said excitedly. She'd only just gotten home a few minutes ago and was looking for a snack before bed. "Angel won, of course, but at least I kicked Doyle's ass!"

"Course you did, baby," he said with a fond chuckle. "Doyle's the shittiest bowler I've ever met."

"So what's up?" she asked, taking a jar of peanut butter out of the fridge and grabbing a spoon from the drawer next to it. "You don't usually call at night."

No, he didn't, but for some reason he'd wanted to tonight. "Nothin's up," he said. "Just wanted to say goodnight, hear your voice before bed."

"Awww, that's sweet," she gushed, but still couldn't help thinking it was a little odd. "Well, goodnight!"

"Night, babe," he answered with affection, and hung up.

He flicked on the television and scanned through a couple of channels, stopping when he saw the familiar face of Drew Carey on the screen. Sweet. Whose Line is it Anyway was one of Lindsey's favourite shows, and he tossed the remote down on the floor and settled back to watch.

He would have preferred to have been out with his friends tonight, but all in all, it hadn't been nearly as horrible as he thought it was going to be.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

"Have fun tonight, sweetie," Fred said, and kissed her boyfriend quickly on the mouth before she hopped out of the truck.

"You too, babe," he answered, smiling and patting her on the ass as she turned to open the door. "Try not to get into too much trouble."

She stood on the sidewalk and closed the car door behind her. "Who me?" she asked. "I never get into trouble!"

"That's why you're my girl," he said, leaning across the seats to kiss her once more through the open window. "See you tomorrow, hey babe?"

"Of course. Tell the guys 'hi' for me!" she said and kissed him on the nose.

"If you two are finished making me sick, can we get going?" Cordelia sighed impatiently and tapped her foot on the ground. "It's already 9:30, and the club is over an hour from here."

Fred blushed and pulled back from Lindsey's truck, wiping her mouth with her thumb, and turned to look at her friend. "Sure, sorry," she said with a shy smile. Then, "let's go!" and hopped excitedly into the passenger seat of Cordelia's car.

"Thank you!" Cordy said, exasperated, and got into the driver's seat. And honked the horn. "If you could get your piece of crap truck out of my driveway so we could get going, that'd be swell," she said to Lindsey, screwing up her nose as if she smelled something.

Lindsey rolled his eyes but didn't say anything as he started up his truck and headed down the street, watching the girls pull away from Cordy's house, tires squealing. At first he hadn't known what Fred saw in Cordelia, why they were friends, and truthfully he still had a little trouble with it.

She was a bitch. But she had her moments, and if you could get past her self-centeredness she could be... well… not a _complete_ bitch. In any case, she had sort of grown on Lindsey, and he'd gotten used to taking just about everything she said and did with a grain of salt.

He pulled up out front of Angel's house and patted his truck on the hood a few times, gently, as he walked around it and to the driveway. He could hear muted music coming from behind the closed garage door, so he assumed Angel and Oz hadn't bothered to wait for him before they started practising.

He grabbed hold of the handle at the bottom of the garage door and lifted it, the sounds of drums and guitar and what Lindsey used to think was a cat being tortured but had later come to learn was Angel, singing, spilled out over Lindsey and into the night.

He watched them for a moment until Angel realised that he was there, and stopped playing.

"Shut the door, idiot," he said. "Neighbours are gonna bitch about the noise."

Lindsey did, and walked straight over to the fridge, grabbing a beer out of it before he grabbed one of Angel's drumsticks from his hand and smacked him in the arm with it.

"The fuck?" Angel asked, and made a face, and Lindsey chuckled.

Angel got up then to get himself a drink and sat down on the couch next to where Lindsey had just sat. "Cheers," he said, happily and held up his bottle for Lindsey to clink his own against.

"To what?" Lindsey asked, as the necks of their bottle clashed happily.

"Guess it's break time then," Oz said almost to himself and put his guitar down before stretching out on the carpet-covered floor near the couch.

"To me," Angel said, pompously. "I had a three-way last night with Buffy and her friend Kendra."

"Fuck off," Lindsey said, thinking he was probably bullshitting again, but with Angel you never really knew.

Angel just smiled a smug smile and shrugged, taking another sip of his drink.

"Good dinner?" Oz asked, trying to change the subject. He loved Angel, but if you let him, he would go on and on about his sex life, and really, Oz didn't love him _that_ much.

"It was alright," Lindsey answered. "We went to this Italian place, and shit, if you think Fred can put back a lot of tacos, you haven't seen anything until you've seen her with all-you-can-eat Spaghetti." He smiled again, thinking about it. "Was good food."

They had been dating for three months, and Fred and Lindsey had gone out to dinner to celebrate, before she went out with dancing with Cordy and he went to hang out with the guys.

"All-you-can-eat?" Angel asked. "Shit, Oz, I told you we should have gone with them." And then to Lindsey: "We were stuck eating frozen meatloaf and carrots from a can. My new stopmom is the worst cook in the world."

Lindsey couldn't help but snicker at that, for a couple of reasons. His old stepmom hadn't exactly been the best cook either.

"Yeah," Oz said, voice devoid of sarcasm. "I'm sure they wouldn't have minded us tagging along on their date."

"Well we wouldn't have had to sit with them," Angel said, and then after a beat changed the subject. "Oh hey! How did 'history for dummies' go?"

Lindsey shrugged and took a drink. "All right. Guy knows I'm not actually planning on doing any work, and he's cool with it. So we just gotta pretend to study, my dad shuts the fuck up about the importance of academic success, and he gets an extra-curricular activity to put on his college applications."

"You know," Oz pointed out. "Since you're gonna have to spend all that time anyway pretending to study, it probably wouldn't kill you to use the time to actually get some work done."

Lindsey snorted. "Sure. I'll keep that in mind."

"Well, it was just a suggestion."

"So," Angel asked. "Who did Snyder stick you with?"

"Wesley," Lindsey answered quickly and immediately filled his mouth with beer. He shouldn't be embarrassed about that, but he was, and he knew his friends were going to find it funny.

He was right. Even Oz laughed, a little. "Wyndham-Pryce?!" Angel blurted between snickers. "They guy with the huge hard-on for you? Oh, shit, Lindsey, that's… that's _awesome_!"

"Thanks," he mumbled.

"No, I mean, well, yeah, okay, it's really funny, but, no," Angel tried to clarify. "Guy likes you. Just, you know, tell him to do your work _for_ you, and he'll probably do it."

"How do you have any friends?" Lindsey wondered out loud.

"Don't worry about it man," Oz said, trying to be supportive. "It's only a few hours a week, and it'll be over soon."

"No, it's cool," Lindsey told them. They looked sceptical. "Well, okay, not _cool_, exactly, but it's not gonna be so bad. He's actually not as much of a total loser as I thought he was."

Angel still looked sceptical. "Whatever," he said, finishing off the last of his beer and standing up. "Let's play."

***

Wesley flipped the third page in a row that he hadn't bothered reading and sighed, closing his book and tossing it down on the bed next to him. He loved reading. He loved getting lost in the characters and settings and stories, and the smell and the feel of the rough paper between his fingers.

But tonight it just wasn't holding the same appeal it normally did. He'd gotten two emails from Connor in the last two days, asking him if they could get together, and of course he'd been too much of a coward to email back, telling him 'no'. He knew he'd have to tell him, and soon, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it electronically.

And he was entirely preoccupied with thoughts of Lindsey. Of what he was going to wear next time he saw him and what he was going to say. Of how he'd act so incredibly suave and be funny and smart and Lindsey wouldn't be able to help but fall in love with him.

He knew that was incredibly unlikely, but it didn't stop the fantasies, and when reality poked its ugly nose into his happy land, Wesley felt illogically empty. It seemed that this opportunity to get closer to Lindsey was only serving to drive home the fact that he had no chance whatsoever.

He wasn't upset about it, really, because he hadn't been expecting anything else, but it didn't stop the tiny little pain in his heart the bizarre sense of melancholy. And if he was ever feeling down about anything, the first thing he always did was go to Spike, and whatever it was that was bothering him would somehow miraculously disappear. Spike, on the few occasions that he wanted to let people see past the bravado, had an unparalleled ability to make people feel good about themselves.

But Spike wasn't home tonight. He was out on a date with Kate, and probably wouldn't be home until much later. Wesley liked Kate. She was a nice girl, and she had dated Angel for a while last year, and Wesley hoped that she'd have sense enough not to let Spike get too far, because the chances he would be calling her again after tonight weren't very high.

But then, most girls had to know that by this point, and Wesley couldn't really blame them for going out with him anyway. That boy was sex on legs, and he had a knack for charming even the most stubborn of girls and Wesley found himself yet again thankful he'd been able to get over that infatuation as easily as he had.

Well, he wasn't going to get any reading done tonight, so laying around in his room wasn't going to get him anywhere. No, laying around in Spike's room was a much better idea.

He climbed down the stairs, stopping in the kitchen on the way to grab a soda from the refrigerator, and then continued on into the basement. Spike had a tiny little 13 inch television sitting on a metal folding table to the side of his well-used couch, and Wesley headed straight for the tiny pile of DVD's on the table next to the television.

It wasn't very large, as Spike only made a point of buying his favourite movies, and Wesley scanned through the pile quickly before pulling one out and shaking his head. 'Sleepless in Seattle'. He stuck the disc into the player and smiled, thinking about what a closet sap Spike was, and plopped down on the couch to watch, and hopefully take his mind off everything.

He was asleep in less than 15 minutes.

***

At ten past two in the morning, Spike stumbled in through his private back entrance, half drunk on the mickey of vodka he'd snuck into movie theatre, and half high on the joint Kate had shared with him in the parking lot out back when the movie had ended. He wasn't alone.

He tried to be as quite as he could, not that Wesley's dad could really hear him upstairs, and if he could, he wouldn't care how late he came in, or who he had with him, but he was thoughtful enough not to want to wake anybody up.

He and Kate stumbled over each other playfully, trading sloppy kisses and letting their hands wander, unwilling to let each other go as they tried to make their was across the floor and to somewhere they could sit down and get a bit more comfortable.

Spike was trying for his bed, and Kate was happy to go along with it, so excited to finally have Spike alone after nearly a month of flirting. She wasn't kidding herself that this night was in any way going to end up in happily ever after, but her thought processes were impaired enough, and her sexual need ramped up enough that she didn't care.

Spike had just managed to walk his date backwards enough that her legs had collided with the edge of his bed, and she had just moved her hands to the front of his pants, fingers fumbling over each other trying to unfasten the buttons, when a thought struck Spike.

It was lighter in his room tonight than it usually was. And louder. He frowned at turned around, Kate losing her balance and falling to the bed behind him, giggling.

Shit. Wesley was fast asleep on his couch, television flickering and playing the music that always played at the beginning of some DVD, while it asked you to highlight a selection. Shit.

His extremely hard cock was encouraging him to ignore Wes, get back to the ready and waiting girl on his bed and have a bit of fun, or maybe wake him up and send him upstairs, but if Wes was down here on his couch instead of upstairs in his own bed, it was probably because he'd needed a friend. Shit.

He reached out a hand to Kate and pulled her back up. "Sorry, sweet," he said, truly apologetic. "We're gonna have to do this another time."

"What?" she asked, unbelieving. "Coming back here was your idea. What are you talking about?"

"I know pet," he said, and kissed her hand. "Sorry. But it seems like I've already got company tonight." He smiled crookedly and nodded his toward Wesley.

Kate laughed. Wesley looked so _cute_! "Fine," she answered, disappointed, but it wasn't as if she was going to do it with an audience, and she would just feel stupid if they woke Wesley up and asked him to leave so they could have sex. "Another time."

He agreed and they shared one last incredibly long kiss before he called her a taxi and gave her ten bucks to pay for it.

When she was gone Spike went over to the couch and sat down on top of Wesley, stretching and wriggling, and smiling when Wesley started to move.

"No, red's not my colour!" Wesley shouted, jerking awake and looking around, confused.

"Oh, but it looks so good on you," Spike told him, pinching his cheek and moving off of his lap to sit beside him on the couch.

"Spike?" he asked, blinking and trying to get his bearings. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh, you're in my room, sleeping beauty. I should be asking what _you're_ doing here."

"I am? Oh, yes," he said, shaking his head and seeming to gain a bit more alertness. "I'm sorry. I was bored upstairs, and I didn't think you'd mind if I watched a bit of telly while you were out. And I just couldn't resist your choice in movies," he added with a smirk and a glance at the television, playing the opening sequence to one the girliest of all girly movies.

"Yeah, you're one to talk," Spike said. "Mr. Loves-The-English-Patient."

"That's a fantastic film!" Wesley argued.

"Whatever," Spike said, and sighed, looking at Wesley. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Wesley answered, but Spike knew better. "Fine. I was just feeling a bit… oh, I don't know… lonely maybe? Being down here makes me feel a little less so."

"Did Lindsey say something to you?" Spike asked, voice rising in volume. It was the only thing Spike could think of that would get to Wesley like this, and the Texan shithead probably would make Wes feel bad about, well, everything. "I'll kick his arse!"

"No, no," Wesley hastened to assure him. "He was actually quite nice about me showing up at his door unexpectedly. And thank you very much for _that_. Ponce."

Spike snickered and elbowed Wes gently in the side. "You're welcome. So, what's with the _woe is me_ act, then?"

"It's nothing, really. Just… I guess I can't pretend anymore that the reason we're not together is that we haven't had a chance to get to know each other. I have to face the fact that he really doesn't want me."

"Wes," Spike breathed out, feeling defeated and impotent. He hated it when anything hurt Wesley, especially his own stupid feelings. He pulled his friend to him, wrapping his arms around the other boy and didn't let go for several minutes. "Then he's an idiot," is all Spike could think of to say when he pulled back, but he knew it wasn't the truth. If Lindsey wasn't into guys, then it wouldn't matter how amazing Wesley was; Lindsey was never going to feel that way about him, and it wasn't anyone's fault.

"Did I ever tell you how lucky I am that you're my friend?" Wesley asked, smiling sadly. Spike was a shit liar, but at least he meant well.

"Oh, fuck off," Spike groused, pushing Wesley away. "_I'm_ certainly not gonna fuck you, so don't go wasting all your poetry on me."

"I love you too, Spike," Wesley told him and kissed him on the cheek, laughing as he got up and Spike wiped his face with his hand.

"Goodnight sweetie!" he called from halfway up the stairs and laughed again when Spike answered by telling him to "shut it."

Wesley really was better off this way. It was like he'd thought; Wes was having to face reality, and it was sure to be a bit painful at first, but ultimately a lot more healthy. Now if he could just get him to deal with Connor and _his_ ridiculous, going nowhere infatuation... What the fuck was it with him and his gay friends whose hearts made the worst possible choices for them?

***

That Saturday afternoon Spike and Wesley and a few of their friends went out to a paintball field to let off a little steam and try to shoot one another in the most painful and insulting places they could manage. It was always a good time.

Connor was tagging along this time. He didn't always, and it wasn't as if he'd never been before, but the decision had more to do with him wanting to see Wesley again than the urge to have his ass painted blue.

So, naturally, Wesley did his best to avoid him at all costs. He'd smiled and looked away when they'd all gotten there, and purposefully gotten himself on whatever team Connor wasn't on, and each time the boy tried to talk to him or touch him he found some sort of excuse or other not to be near him.

He knew he should talk to him. Today. And he planned on it. But a battlefield with paintballs flying through the air wasn't the optimal place to have that particular conversation.

Perhaps after… "Oomph!" Wesley fell to the ground behind a large metal tube, hit squarely in the stomach by an unforgiving splotch of red paint, and tossed his head back dramatically. That's what he got for letting himself get distracted.

"See?" Spike said, grinning at him and holding his own gun ready to jump up and shoot at whoever had just gotten Wesley. "I was right. Red does look good on you."

Spike stood then, fast as Wesley had ever seen and started shooting as fast as his rifle would allow, screaming in glee and hooting into the air when he heard his victim fall to the ground on the other side of the open space.

"That's what the fucker gets!" Spike said, adrenaline making him a little more vicious than he usually was. He looked at Wes then, puzzled that he was still even there. "Right, fuck off."

Wesley rolled his eyes and got up, hands in the air as he made his way off the field and to the observation benches on the side. He wasn't there for more than a few seconds when he saw Connor headed toward him.

He took a deep breath and prepared himself. Maybe if nobody else got shot for the next few minutes, they could have enough time to talk. But Wesley was sort of hoping they wouldn't.

"How's your stomach?" Connor asked, sitting down next to Wesley and putting his hand casually on Wesley's thigh.

"What?!" Wesley barked, startled, and jerked his leg away.

Connor smiled at him, thinking his modesty was cute. "Your stomach? I shot you at pretty close range. It must smart a bit."

"That was you?!" Wesley asked, not knowing why it bothered him so much that it was Connor that had removed him from the game.

"Yeah." He smiled and looked down. "Sorry. But you're the only one I've looked at since we got here, so I didn't really have the chance to shoot anyone else."

Wesley was oddly flattered, but knew he shouldn't be. It wasn't going to get him anywhere. "Well, that's… _shit_," he started, as he tried to sit up a little straighter and the bruise that was likely forming on his stomach made itself known.

Connor looked at him with concern, one hand going around his shoulders while the other went to his stomach. "Is it that bad? Shit, I'm sorry, Wes, I…"

"No, it's fine, Connor, really," Wesley told him. "It was just a bit of paint, and I've had worse."

"Okay," Connor responded, not sounding all that convinced. "But if you need anything… Ice, a bed, full body message…" He waggled his eyebrows at Wesley and moved a little closer.

"Thank you, I'm good for now," he said, and took a breath, ready to launch into a speech about why Connor had to give up on him.

As he opened his mouth to talk he found Connor's hand in his lap, deft fingers working over his flaccid cock and balls, and he gasped and spluttered and would have stopped him if it hadn't felt so good.

"Connor, you really shouldn't…" His weak protest was negated by the simple action of him grabbing Connors questing hand in one of his and pushing it harder into his groin, and he gasped and closed his eyes. Well, shit. That certainly wasn't going to solve anything, but _damn_, did it feel fantastic.

"Fuck, Wes, I love your cock," Connor whispered into his ear as his fingers squeezed and caressed, and Wesley couldn't help but shiver. "It's so big, and sweet and perfect and all I want to do right now is taste it. Get down on my knees and swallow it, or lay back and let you fuck me… Anything you want. Anything. I just want you."

He was aware he was laying on a bit thick, but he was also aware that Wesley wasn't really all that invested in him, and he needed to do whatever it took to make Wesley his. Oh, he was pretty sure Wesley liked him, they'd had sex hadn't they? But Wesley had been incredibly drunk, and since then he'd seemed to want to slow things down.

Connor wanted to speed them up, and not only because he didn't want Wesley to lose interest.

"Connor," Wesley cried piteously, "Fuck, please stop!" The boy hadn't done much, but Wes on the edge and it wouldn't be long before he was losing it.

"I don't want to stop, Wes," he said. "Fuck, I just want to make you feel good. And nobody's looking… Please. Please just let me make you feel good."

Wesley gave up trying to fight and relaxed into Connor's inexperienced hands. It did feel good. And it was going to feel even better. His eyes fluttered shut even though he tried to keep them open and before long he was panting and thrusting and mumbling praises to Connor and his inexplicable talent and shooting, long and hard and soaking the front of his jumpsuit.

_Well_, he thought, catching his breath and grabbing hold of Connor's wrist, squeezing it in thanks. _If I'm stuck with him for the rest of my life, at least he knows how to get things done._

He tilted his head toward Connor and caught the boy's mouth in a fast kiss, before turning back around and placing Connor's hand in his own lap. "Connor, I think…" he said, still trying to even out his breathing. "I think we need to-"

He was almost disappointed, but not quite, when Charles came to sit beside them, front covered in red paint and having no clue what they'd just been up to. "Damn, that Faith!" he said, shaking the excess paint off his suit and tossing his gun down beside him.

Connor shuffled back a little from Wesley, and Wesley crossed his hands over his lap to try to hide the evidence of their indiscretion, and they both smiled half smiles at Charles and waited until the battle was over and they could get changed and go home.

***

Lindsey let his hand move a little lower, from Fred's ribs down to her taut belly, and let his lips and teeth absently work over the outside of her ear and down her neck.

"Mmmm," she responded, and rubbed her own hand up and down Lindsey's thigh, pressing back further into her boyfriend.

"Oh! This one is so funny!" she exclaimed, and sat up, attention straying to the television screen.

Lindsey was a little irritated that his groping session had been cut short, but couldn't help agreeing with her, so he leaned back into the couch, pulling her with him, and moved his hand to her hip rubbing warm, non-sexual circles over it. This was good too.

"Colin Mochrie is the funniest person in the world," Lindsey said, laughing as he did his classic dinosaur impression for the camera.

"In your dreams," Fred countered. "Chip Esten is the funniest person!"

"Oh, sorry," Lindsey snickered. "I was only counting people from the _good_ Whose Line."

"Oh, Lindsey!" she said, like she was talking to a particularly dense 4 year old. "The British one _is_ the good Whose Line!"

"You're high, aren't you?" Lindsey asked her, trying to remain completely serious, but when he reached out his hand to pry open eye, pretending to check for the classic signs of intoxication they both collapsed into giggles, Lindsey landing on top of Fred on a messy pile on the living room sofa.

They sobered quickly as Lindsey leaned down to kiss her, but before he go that far the doorbell rang, interrupting them.

Lindsey bolted up as though he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't be doing, but tried to calm himself down before he smiled at Fred, who sat up on the couch, and went to answer the door.

It was Wesley, like he knew it would be.

"Hey man," he said, as he opened the door and stepped back to allow Wesley entrance. "What's goin' on?"

"Hm? Er, oh, nothing," Wesley mumbled, toeing off his shoes and again handing Lindsey his jacket. "What's, uh, going on with you?"

Lindsey shrugged and hung up Wesley's coat before taking down Fred's. "Same old shit."

Fred appeared then from around the corner and accepted the jacket Lindsey held out. "Hey Wes!" she said, and smiled her bright, beaming smile at him. It had the same effect it always did, and almost instantly he felt more relaxed.

"Hello, Fred."

"It's so nice of you to help out Lindsey like this. His daddy can be a real pain in the butt sometimes." She knew Wes had a thing for her boyfriend, hell everybody knew he did, but if the two of them were okay hanging out together, then she was okay with it. And it really was a nice thing for Wesley to do.

"Yeah, thanks again, man," Lindsey agreed.

"Oh, it's no bother. Really."

"Well, I suppose I'll get out of here and let you two get at it," Fred said, slipping on her jacket.

"Bye babe," Lindsey said, moving a hand to the back of her neck to pull her in for a quick, but passionate, kiss. By the time they were finished Wesley seemed to be finding the wood trim on the closet door very interesting and Lindsey couldn't help but feel a little bit bad for flaunting his relationship, even though he really had no reason to.

Wesley knew he was with Fred, knew he wasn't into guys, and he shouldn't have to hide anything just because Wesley had feelings for him. Still, he thought it must not feel very good to see the person you like with someone else.

"Bye Wes!" Fred said, waving, as she left, and he smiled at her, watching her go.

Lindsey led Wesley in to the kitchen again and they sat down in the same seats they'd been in the previous Thursday. It was easier for both of them this time, sitting together, talking, even laughing once or twice, but still wasn't what either of them would call comfortable.

"It's actually not so bad, you know. American history," Wesley said, at some point.

"Oh, come on Wes," Lindsey argued. "It's duller than fuck!"

"Not really. Every country has a story to tell, and when you start to get into it, get lost in all the details, it can actually be quite interesting."

"Trust me. I know everything we've ever been taught about it in 12 years of school, and there's nothing I've learned that makes me even the tiniest bit interested in learning more."

"You know the facts, Lindsey," Wesley told him. "That's very different than understanding it, imagining what it was like, and I think if you ever tried that, you might feel a bit different."

"You really like history, don't you?" Lindsey asked him, sort of impressed that Wesley seemed to have such a passion, but mostly thinking he was crazy. Music, philosophy, even politics; these were things that Lindsey could really get into, but history? What the fuck was the point? Good thing he was damn near a genius or he'd have to do some of that 'actually trying to learn something' that Wes was talking about.

"Yes, I…" Wesley started and then blushed, looking down at the table top. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business. As you said, you clearly don't need my help, and I'm just sticking my nose in where it doesn't belong."

"No, Wes, it's fine," Lindsey said, not wanting him to feel like he wasn't allowed to voice an opinion. "You're into it. That's cool."

"Yes, well. Again, I'm sorry."

"I actually have been giving the war of 1812 a little bit of thought," Lindsey admitted.

"Really?" Wesley sounded genuinely interested in what those thoughts were.

Lindsey let out a small chuckle. "Yeah. It was kinda cool how we kicked some British ass."

"Oh, in your dreams!" Wesley countered. "The American's spent that entire war running around, screaming for their mothers!"

"Oh, I think we got a few hard hits in," Lindsey said, eyes and mouth crinkling in humour. Wesley was cute when he got worked up about something.

"Hmph," Wesley snorted, like a petulant five year old. "That's probably only because it wasn't _really _Britain you were fighting."

Lindsey just looked at him, on the verge of smiling, and waited.

"And not really being British didn't stop them from running you lot back where you came from and burning your capital to the ground," Wesley groused.

"True," Lindsey said, nodding solemnly. "We better be careful not to piss off those Canadians again."

"Oh, shut up," Wesley grumbled, but couldn't completely hide his smile.

"I think I have an alright idea for a term paper," Lindsey told him, stopping their good-natured argument. "Who knows. I may even write one." _But probably not_.

"Well, let's not go overboard. You should start with the thoughts, and work your way up to actual homework very slowly. You wouldn't want to sprain something."

Lindsey laughed. Wesley acted shy, but he wasn't afraid to be a smartass when it suited him.

"Want something to drink?" Lindsey asked, getting up and going over to the fridge.

"Er, sure," Wesley answered. "What have you got?"

Lindsey came back to the table and put a bottle of beer down in front of Wesley, and kept another for himself.

Wesley looked at him quizzically, wondering if he was serious. "A beer?" he asked. "In your parent's kitchen? On a Monday?"

Lindsey laughed again, but fully this time. "Live a little," he suggested, twisting the top off his bottle and taking a large swig.

Wesley shrugged, and after several seconds of fighting with a cap that seemed particularly stubborn, he followed suit.

Lindsey looked… pretty, Wesley guessed would be the word, when he swallowed. He looked pretty all the time, really, but they way his hair fell back as he tilted his head, and his eyes closed in pleasure as the taste flowed across his tongue, and his throat worked, constricting and relaxing, pushing the drink through… Damn, alright, maybe pretty wasn't the word.

Wesley was feeling much more at ease around Lindsey than he had been last time, and that was probably the reason that he found it so easy to drift off, dick pleasantly hard in his pants and mind pleasantly blank but for thoughts of how incredibly attractive Lindsey was, and all the attractive things he'd like to do to him.

He must have been so at ease, so lost in his musings, in fact, that he failed to hear Lindsey calling his name the first one or four times.

"Wes!" Lindsey called, waving his hand in front of Wesley's face, and smiled when Wesley jumped and blinked.

"Hm? What? Sorry."

"You just kind of zoned out for a minute. You okay?"

"Oh. Yes, of course. Sorry, I'm fine." He desperately hoped that Lindsey hadn't been able to pick up what he was thinking. Of course he hadn't. He wasn't psychic or anything, right?

But he didn't need to be psychic.

It was obvious where Wesley's mind had been, and Lindsey found it flattering and exciting. And he would never admit it to anyone, but while he'd watched Wesley, eyes glazed over and unconsciously licking his lips as his hands had moved back and forth over his bottle of beer, Lindsey had had a very brief flash of Wesley, on his knees, in front of him, mouth full and staring up at him in awe.

But again, he would never admit it.

"You uh…" Lindsey started and cleared his throat. Was it getting hot in there? "You want a sandwich?"

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Two weeks had gone by. And in that two weeks a funny thing started to happen to Wesley. He became less and less infatuated with Lindsey as the other boy started to become more and more of a person in his eyes, and not just a remarkably sexy, well-built, ridiculously perfect male specimen.

He still did fantasise, still wanted to have sex with him, still wanted to marry him and live happily ever after, but he no longer thought Lindsey was perfect. He sometimes said incredibly stupid things, and talked with his mouth full, and emitted various foul odours, and Wesley found himself starting to really _like_ him. For the person he really was, and not the fantasy Wesley had built up.

Wesley had been over to Lindsey's house four more times, and even though he was afraid to bring it up, because he thought Lindsey might take him up on it, he felt compelled to suggest that he didn't really need to be there.

Lindsey's parents had never been home when Wes was around, and they wouldn't have known if he was there or not, as long as both he and Lindsey said that he was. Lindsey could have his Monday's and Thursday's to himself again and his father could go on thinking that he was getting some work done.

But Lindsey had told him no, said that his stepmom had an unpredictable schedule and he never knew when she was going to come home, so it was safer that Wesley was actually around, just in case. He hadn't said that he was getting to enjoy the time they spent together, but that didn't mean it wasn't true.

He was finding himself looking forward to the times that Wesley came over, to talking and listening to music and drinking beer on Monday's. He'd caught himself, once or twice, when they'd accidentally bumped shoulders while sitting on the couch in the living room, or their hands had touched as Lindsey passed Wesley something to drink, imagining what other kinds of touches they could get up to, and if they would feel as electric and forbidden as the innocent ones they'd shared so far.

It wasn't that Lindsey was attracted to Wesley. Okay, so it was exactly like that, but Lindsey was more than a little conflicted by the fucked up thoughts and flashes of desire, because he wasn't gay. He'd always been with girls. Always been happy to be with girls, but the way Wes looked at him with such adoration and lust had more than once made his breath catch and his groin twitch.

And the way any signs of attraction seemed to disappear in a blink when Lindsey made some comment about the Democratic Party, or affirmative action or the fucking metric system that Wesley disagreed with, and Wesley would go off on him about why he was the stupidest person he'd ever met – Lindsey really liked that too.

But Lindsey had a girlfriend. So even if he was starting to entertain thoughts about doing horribly wrong things to Wes, which he wasn't, because he wasn't gay, he couldn't anyway, because he was spoken for.

And in the past two weeks his relationship with Fred had gotten better. In a way.

He hadn't been getting any more action, but he was getting increasingly content to stop when she said, and they were both getting less inclined to start anything in the first place. Oh, they still cared about each other, still kissed and touched and Lindsey still jerked off thinking about her, so it wasn't like their relationship had dried up completely, just… slowed down.

And they both thought that was a good thing. They were far more comfortable together now, had a lot more fun together without so much sexual tension getting in the way, and they were happy.

Wesley was still no closer to having that talk with Connor, and settling things with him once and for all. In fact, that whole situation had gotten even worse.

Just over a week ago Connor had invited Wesley out to dinner, and Wesley had agreed to it, thinking it the perfect time to get the boy alone, in a public place where he couldn't try anything that might distract Wesley, and let him know that nothing more was going to happen between them.

It sounded great, and Wesley was nervous of course, but he was resolved. By the end of Saturday night, he would be Connor-free, and hopefully the boy wouldn't be too crushed.

Wesley had met him at the restaurant, one of those tragic American steak houses, only to discover that Connor's parents were joining them. He'd introduced Wesley to them as his boyfriend, and Wesley had had to offer a forced smile, fake his way through a pleasant dinner, trying not to jump whenever Connor touched him, however casually, and go along with whatever the boy said.

It was either that, or make a fool of them both in front of Connor's parents, and while he harboured no romantic feelings for the younger boy, he did care about him, and was hoping to at least salvage what there had ever been of a friendship between them.

It now appeared, that despite his mediocre efforts to the contrary, and feeble protests, that Wesley had a boyfriend.

***

"Spike, you've got to talk to him for me. Please," Wesley begged over the supper table on Thursday evening. He'd just about given up on being able to do it himself, and he knew Spike would be so much better at it, say the right thing, and not hurt Connor half as much as Wesley probably would.

Spike raised and eyebrow and finished chewing his mouthful of chicken. "Not a chance in hell, Wes."

"Oh, _please_!" Wesley wheedled, eyes drooping piteously and mouth turned down into a pout. "It's been almost a month since… well… and no matter how hard I try I can't seem to find the right time to talk to him about it."

"That's because you're acting like a big sissy girl," Spike pointed out, taking another bite of his dinner. "It's not tough, Wes. Just tell him the truth. You fucked your way into this situation, you can get yourself out. And Soon."

Wesley really was taking his sweet time, and the longer it went on, the worse Connor was going to feel when he learned the truth. Spike really wished he didn't care.

Wesley sighed, pushing some carrots around on his plate and stabbing his mashed potatoes with his fork. Spike was actually a pretty good cook, but Wesley wasn't hungry today.

"Fine," he said, understanding and agreeing with what Spike said. "I'll talk to him this weekend."

Spike looked like he didn't quite believe it, and opened his mouth to say as much, but Wesley cut him off.

"I promise. But in the mean time, maybe you could-"

"No."

"You don't even know what I was going to say!"

"I don't care. The answer is no."

"You used to be nice," Wesley pouted, and dropped his fork onto his plate, signalling the end of his trying to eat anything.

Spike gave Wesley a cheeky smile and stood, picking up both of their discarded dinner plates and planning a kiss on Wesley's cheek as he passed to drop them in the sink. "You still think I'm nice."

Wesley rolled his eyes and stood. "I've gotta get to Lindsey's. See you later. Jerk." There was a fondness to his insult, like there always was, and Spike grinned at him.

"Probably not. I'm going to the Bronze tonight with Drusilla."

"Well, that took a while. You must be losing your touch," Wesley quipped. Spike had been asking Drusilla out for almost six months, but she'd always turned him down.

"If I'm lucky, she might wear the uniform for me," he said, with a waggle of his eyebrows.

He was such a slut. Wesley really hoped that he would find someone that could keep his interest for more than a couple of hours, because he couldn't possibly be happy with all of these tawdry flings for long. Even if he thought he would.

"Have fun," Wesley suggested, and turned to go.

***

Lindsey didn't bother ushering Wesley in to the kitchen when he showed up that night. It was Thursday, and over the past couple of weeks, just as Monday had become beer night, Thursday had become television night.

Fred had been visiting him earlier in the afternoon, but Lindsey had made sure she was gone long before Wesley showed up, and he'd already outfitted the living room with popcorn and nachos and two cans of Pepsi, tidied up, and changed into his favourite pair of jeans. The ones that Spike had told him that Wesley liked, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

He couldn't help feeling stupid, like he was getting ready for a date or something, and chastised himself for being such an idiot. It was nothing like that. Wesley came over all the time. They hung out all the time. Nothing was going on, nothing ever would be going on, he didn't want anything to be going on. Right.

"Popcorn?" Lindsey offered, holding out the bowl and flopping down on the couch.

"Oh, yes, please," Wesley answered, sitting down next to him and helping himself to a handful. "So how's that history paper that you were considering writing coming along?"

Lindsey just smirked at him and flicked on the television.

An hour passed. They argued over what station to watch, Lindsey wanting the sports channel and Wesley the National Geographic channel, and they eventually settled on music videos and didn't pay much attention to them anyway.

They were too busy talking about how terrible their exes were, and how shitty it was to get your heart broken, and laughing at the other's terrible taste in partners and throwing popcorn around.

"God, Andrew?" Lindsey said, sounding like he didn't entirely believe it. "What were you thinking?" He thought he'd known the answer to that, thought that Wesley couldn't get anyone better. But now that he knew Wesley, he knew how very wrong he'd been.

"He's really not that bad," Wesley tried to defend him. "He was… nice, and good to me, and we were happy."

"Until he ran off after some other loser who he didn't stand a chance with and left you high and dry. You deserve better than that, Wes."

Wesley smiled a little at that, the same thing Spike had said to him about Lindsey, and felt incredibly amazed that Lindsey seemed to care enough to have an opinion on who he dated at all.

"Well at least he didn't sleep with half the football team and give me crabs before dumping me because he'd gotten knocked up by some freak who lives in a basement and likes to be called Master!" What anybody could ever see in Darla, Wesley had no idea.

"Good point," Lindsey conceded with a small snort and held up his can of soda to clink against Wesley's. "To exes we're glad to be rid of," Lindsey toasted.

"Indeed," Wesley said, and joined in the toast. He was hoping to be able to add Connor to that list of exes very soon, but he really didn't want to tell Lindsey about that.

"Oh, cool, it's almost 9:30," Lindsey said, noticing the clock on the table behind Wesley, and he switched the station over to the Comedy Network.

"What's so cool about 9:30?" Wesley asked, and turned to the television to find out.

"Oh," Lindsey said, stuffing three nacho chips into his mouth and speaking around them. Wesley tried not to look disgusted. "Whose Line Is It Anyway. Funniest fuckin' show I've ever seen."

"Ooooh!" Wesley said, excited, and put his drink down on the table beside him. "I love that show!"

They waited for another 30 seconds for the advertisements to finish, and when the show started Wesley frowned and looked over at Lindsey. "I thought you meant the _real_ Whose Line Is It Anyway was coming on," he said, and Lindsey almost thought he was cute, the way he pouted like that.

"What's wrong with this show?"

"Nothing, I suppose," Wesley said, extremely put upon. "It's just that the British one is so much funnier!"

Lindsey watched him for a minute, as he watched the show, cracking the odd smile despite saying that he didn't like it as much, and couldn't help but remember Fred, a couple of weeks ago, saying almost the exact same thing.

He thought it was a little odd that he felt the same sort of annoyed affection toward Wesley as he had toward Fred, and thought Wesley looked just as adorable when he scowled and pouted and claimed that he knew better.

He thought it was _really_ odd that he was struck by a near overwhelming urge to wrestle Wesley into submission, right there on the couch, and hold him down, bodies pressed together, vibrating with tension and something else until Wesley agreed with whatever he said. Yeah, that was really odd.

Wesley hadn't heard anything from Lindsey in a while, and there had been several pretty funny jokes that he'd expected the other boy to laugh at, so he turned back, wondering what was going on, and saw Lindsey staring at him, quite intently.

"Er…" Wesley hedged. "Is there something wrong?"

"Huh? Oh, no," Lindsey said, sitting back and turning his head to the television. He was thankful they were just starting up a new imporv and he had an excuse to change the subject. "Oh, I love this game!"

Wesley wasn't sure what had just happened, but he could tell that there _had_ been something on Lindsey's mind. He only hoped he hadn't done anything to ruin the tentative friendship they'd recently developed.

But Lindsey seemed fine for the rest of the night, and was friendly as Wesley left, and told him he'd see him on Monday, so Wesley had to consider that it had been in his head. He wasn't known for his logic where Lindsey was concerned, after all.

***

Damn, but Spike loved catholic school girls. Not as much as that freak Angel did, but he just couldn't get enough of those short, plaid skirts, riding up thighs as tight little bodies ground against him on the dance floor. He loved the way they looked in those uniforms, forbidden, like a present that you had to wait until Christmas morning to unwrap, and it drove Spike crazy in such a good, good way to not unwrap them on the spot.

And Drusilla, it seemed, was trying just as hard as her red plaid skirt and her neatly buttoned white blouse and her navy blue tie, to drive him all the crazier.

He groaned into her ear as she danced against him, thigh rubbing along his crotch, and he shivered, hands gliding over her back and ass.

"Fuck, luv, you're driving me inane," he whispered, and pulled her closer to him. "I want you so bad."

"Silly, silly, Spike," she said, chuckling in his ear. "It's not me you want tonight."

Spike rolled his eyes. _Great_, he thought. _Here we go again_. Dru was hot, and Spike had been trying to get up her skirt for about six months now, but she had her crazy moments. Seemed like this was one of them.

"Don't be ridiculous, Dru," he told her, twirling them around and kissing her on the neck. "Course I want you."

"Not like you want her," she pouted. "It's always her, her, her."

"Who the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"You know who. She's stolen your heart, and your mind. I can see it in you, all pink and swirly."

"Dru, stop this nonsense. Let's get out of here. Go someplace quiet."

"Sorry, my sweet," she said, shaking her head, and dropped his hand, taking several slow steps backward. "You must stay here."

Spike watched, bewildered, as she walked away from him, leaving him standing in the middle of the dance floor all by himself.

***

"Hey, check it out," Cordelia said, taking a sip of her diet soda and elbowing Fred in the side. "The tramp is leaving."

Fred didn't have to check it out; she'd been watching Spike dance with the girl from St Mary's for almost half an hour, so she was already staring at them when she left. She felt bad for Spike, standing there all alone and trying to pretend he hadn't just been dumped, but she would be lying if she said she wasn't glad the girl was gone.

She wasn't very good for him. Or, she didn't look it anyway, not that Fred had ever met her.

Spike walked over to the bar, almost next to where Fred and Cordy were standing, but he didn't notice them as he ordered himself a bottle of water downed it in one swallow.

"Hey, Spike," Fred said, taking a few steps closer to him and leaning into his ear.

He turned, startled, but smiled. "Fred. You out all by your lonesome tonight?" He knew Lindsey was studying with Wes, and if that tosser wasn't tagging along, maybe he'd get to spend a little time with her. Not that he'd try anything. They were just friends.

"I'm here with Cordy," she said, nodding her head behind her to where Cordelia was watching them. "But Lindsey's home tonight.

"Got the night off then, have you? Good for you, pet."

She blushed and shifted feet, moving a little closer to him. "So, do you, um, want to dance?"

He smiled and took her hand and led her out onto the dance floor without a second thought.

***

"I don't know what she's doing with _that _loser," Cordy spat after she'd invited herself to sit down next to Charles Gunn at his table.

"Spike's a nice guy," he said, and snagged back his hot chocolate. "Get your own damn drink, skinny."

"Whatever," she said, and flagged down a passing waiter, or possibly just a passing high school boy, and gave him her order. "She's already got a boyfriend. A _cool_ boyfriend. And being seen with Spike cannot be good for her reputation, and since she's my friend, it can't be good for _mine_."

"They're just dancin', Cordy. Leave 'em alone."

She made an irritated kind of huffing noise and folded her arms across her chest, clearly not ready to let it go.

"Or better yet…" Gunn said, smiling, and he got up, grabbing Cordelia by the arm and dragged her out onto the dance floor to join their friends.

She objected at first, not wanting to be manhandled by anyone, and not wanting to have to dance with anybody that she thought might make her look bad in any way, but she warmed up to it after a while, and the four of them spent the better part of the next two hours tearing the place up.

"Oh my goodness!" Fred exclaimed, sometime after Gunn had driven Cordelia home and her and Spike were at the bar getting another drink of water. "It's almost midnight! I can't believe it got so late and I didn't even notice."

"That's what happens when you've got the right company," Spike told her, smiling and putting a few dollars down on the bar to cover the drinks. "But you're right, it is getting late. How 'bout I walk you home?"

The walk was nice. Fred lived pretty close to Wesley's house, and both were about a twenty minute walk from the Bronze, and the spent the majority of that time in comfortable silence.

It was starting to get a little chilly during the nights, and when Spike saw Fred shiver at a light gust of wind he took off his duster and draped it over her shoulders. The weight and smell of the leather had felt like his arms around her, and she thought she should feel guilty that she liked the feeling so much.

Spike walked on the outside of the sidewalk, and took her arm when they crossed the street, and when he left her, at the foot of the walkway to her front door, he smiled and bowed and kissed her hand and told her what a fantastic time he'd had with her.

Spike walked the five minutes home from Fred's, wondering where the hell all that politeness had come from. It wasn't that he couldn't turn on the charm when he wanted to, but he wasn't even trying to get into her pants, for fuck's sake!

He really _had_ had fun. Even though Dru had run off hours ago, and he'd lost his best shot at scoring that night, he'd had a better time just dancing and talking and hanging out with Fred than he would have if everything had gone as he'd planned.

Fred watched Spike head off down the street until he turned the corner two blocks down, and then went inside, well aware that she was wearing what must have been a really stupid looking grin. She didn't care.

Her last thought before she fell asleep that night, was that she wished Spike had kissed her, properly, before he'd walked away.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

It was Friday afternoon and Lindsey couldn't wait to get home. It wasn't that anything particularly exciting was going on, just a date with Fred that night, and hanging out his band tomorrow and the usually family dinner on Sunday, but at least he wouldn't be at school.

He stopped in at his locker to drop off his books before heading home, taking his time as he did so and sneaking a few glances toward Wesley's locker, hoping to maybe see him there and say 'hi' before the weekend.

Wesley wasn't there, but some other kid was. Lindsey recognised him as the drummer in Spike's band, but couldn't think of his name, or any reason the kid would be hanging around, looking nervous.

Connor shifted from one foot to the other and as he turned slightly he saw Lindsey, glancing in his direction, and he offered a lame sort of phoney smile and went back to shuffling and looking up and down the hall, to see if Wesley was anywhere nearby. Connor knew who Lindsey was. Everybody knew who Lindsey was. But he wasn't impressed.

He knew Wes used to have a bit of a thing for Lindsey, but Wes was with him now, was better off with him, and he was pretty sure, or pretty hopefully, anyway, that Wesley had gotten over the temporary insanity that caused him to think that Lindsey was in any way desirable.

There was something about the guy that rubbed him the wrong way. He was cocky and shallow and much too much like some character out of a John Mellencamp song, not that Connor would ever listen to that shit, but Lindsey probably did, and he hated that Wesley's locker was so close to his, and that Wesley spent two nights a week with him, when Connor only got to see Wes once a week, if he was lucky. He really didn't like Lindsey.

"You lost or somethin'?" Lindsey asked, snarkier than he usually was, but the way the kid had looked at him and dismissed him really rankled.

"Hm?" Connor said, snapping his head around to the source of the question. He was trying his best to pretend that he wasn't hyper-aware of Lindsey at the moment. "Me? No, I'm just waiting for Wesley."

Oh, well, if the kid was in Spike's band, Lindsey supposed it made sense that he and Wesley were friends.

"Yeah," Connor said when Lindsey turned back to close his own locker. "We're sort of seeing each other, you know?" He knew he sounded like he was staking out his territory, but he couldn't help it. That's exactly what he was doing. Even if Lindsey wasn't gay, Connor needed him to know that Wes was spoken for.

"Oh," Lindsey said, face scrunched up in confusion. He didn't know that Wesley had a boyfriend, and he felt a bit insulted that after all the time they'd spent together and the friendship that had started to form between them, that Wesley hadn't even thought enough to tell him about it.

And what was this kid, anyway, 12? And he really needed a haircut, and some new clothes, and from what Lindsey had gathered in the last minute and a half, a personality transplant.

And if Wes had a boyfriend, then what the hell was he doing with a crush on Lindsey, anyway?!

"See ya," he mumbled in the vague direction of Wesley's boyfriend and walked off, good mood at the idea of starting the weekend inexplicably ruined. He really didn't like that boy.

Connor felt a small thrill of victory as Lindsey walked away, satisfied that he knew the score now, not that it should have mattered. Lindsey wasn't serious competition. He decided to give Wesley another five minutes before he left, and if he missed him he'd give him a call later that night.

It turned out he only had to wait two minutes.

"Connor?" Wesley questioned as he neared his locker. "What are you doing here?" He wasn't panicking. Really, he wasn't. He had been meaning to get Connor alone all week long and have that talk with him, but here, in the school hallway, in front of his locker, where Lindsey could walk by any moment and witness how much of a berk he was, probably wasn't the chance he'd been looking for.

Connor smiled and moved out of the way so Wesley could get to his locker. "Just wanted to see you," he said, and Wesley was almost heartbroken by his earnestness. "We haven't gotten together in a while, and I was hoping we could make some plans."

Wesley hated himself.

"Tomorrow," Wesley said. "Come over to my place. You're right, we really should… talk."

Connor's face lit up and Wesley felt a little bit worse. The boy had clearly only heard an invitation to spend some time with his boyfriend, and here Wesley was, planning on breaking his heart.

"Okay, I'll…" Connor shifted from foot to foot, again, and debating leaning in to give Wes a kiss, but the hallway was still pretty crowded, and he knew that Wesley was usually kind of on the private side, so he decided against it.

He knew it had been the right choice when Wesley visibly relaxed after he instead casually moved his hand forward to hook his index finger around Wesley's for only a second and then backed off slightly.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

***

Lindsey and Fred had gone out for tacos and then ice cream and then ended up at Lindsey's house afterward, where they'd run into Lindsey's stepmother for about five minutes before she told them Mr McDonald wasn't going to be home until much later that night, and went out again herself.

They were lying down on the living room couch, Lindsey half on top of Fred, their legs scissored together and Fred's arms wrapped around Lindsey's neck and back as they kissed, lips and tongues playing over each other rather perfunctorily.

Lindsey, for his part, was trying very hard to get into it, and trying very hard to tell himself that the reason he was so interested in Fred's body tonight wasn't anything to do with the fact that he couldn't seem to stop thinking about Wesley and his boyfriend.

It was a good thing, he thought, as he worked one hand up under Fred's shirt and glided the palm across her left breast, that Wesley had a boyfriend. He _should_ have a boyfriend, he thought, and pushed his hips forward, semi-hard cock pressing against Fred's hip.

Wesley was a nice guy, Lindsey tried to remember, his lips leaving Fred's and trailing down her neck, and he deserved to be happy with someone. Even if that someone was that annoying little dorky, emo shithead. And he'd heard the other day, from some random guy, that Wesley was a pro at sucking cock, so it was little wonder that he wouldn't be alone.

"Ow!" Fred squeaked, as Lindsey's hand inadvertently squeezed a little too hard on her nipple and bit a little too hard on her shoulder. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea at the moment. He still wasn't fully hard, anyway.

"Sorry, babe," he said, placing a gentle kiss to the place he'd just sunk his teeth into. "I, uh… Do you want to put on the tv?"

"Yes!" She shouted, much too enthusiastic for Lindsey's ego as they both sat up. It wasn't really her fault that she hadn't exactly been into it either. "I mean, yeah, sure. Battlestar Galactica is coming on soon."

Lindsey sighed and tossed Fred the remote. What the fuck was going on?

***

Wesley sat in his bedroom on Saturday night and waited for Connor to arrive. This was it. In a very short while he'd have told him the truth, probably broken his heart, definitely wished to put his head through a wall, and hopefully managed to salvage a friendship. But he wasn't counting on the last one.

A knock on his bedroom door came at a little after 8:30pm, and he didn't move from his prone position on his bed as he called out for the person on the other side of the door to come in. It was probably his father, or possibly Spike, come to let him know that there was someone at the door for him.

_Or_, he thought, as he sat bolt upright and scooted to the edge of his bed, _it was Connor_.

"Hello," he greeted, and stood up as Connor entered the room and shut the door behind him. "Would you like to sit down?" he asked, gesturing to the chair at his desk and the bed behind him. He really would have preferred to have done this downstairs, but someone, and he was really going to give Spike hell for that, had decided to send Connor up.

"Okay," Connor answered, and sat down on the bed next to where Wesley was standing. When Wesley didn't immediately sit down beside him, he reached up his hand to Wes's, gently tugging on it until the older boy followed his lead.

Wesley tried to smile, but he suspected it came out more of a grimace, as he pulled his hand back from Connor's, placing it safely in his own lap. He took a deep breath. This was it.

"Connor, I'm glad you came," he started. That was a good start, right? Honest, straightforward, not in any way sissy. Yes, this was already going well. "I wanted to-"

"I'm glad you invited me," Connor interrupted, schooching closer to Wesley on the bed, and leaning in very close. "Finally."

They hadn't actually had sex since that first night, a month ago, and Connor desperately wanted to change that. It was good to see that Wesley did, too. He smiled and took Wesley's hands in his, moving them out of the way so that he could wrap his arms around his boyfriend as he kissed him.

Wesley kissed back. He couldn't help it. For all his inexperience, Connor was actually very good at it, among other things, and after only the barest touch of Connor's lips against his own, after Connor's soft tongue slipped inside his barely parted mouth and began to glide across his teeth, Wesley was lost.

Oh, God, what was wrong with him? He didn't even _like_ Connor like that, and here he was, kissing him and running a hand over his hip and thigh, and happily leaning back and spreading his legs slightly so that Connor could work open his pants, and wiggle his hand inside, and grab his-

"Stop!" Wesley nearly shouted and jumped back, pushing Connor away and throwing them both off balance a little.

"Wes? What's wrong?" Connor attempted to brush a soothing hand over Wesley's knee, but he jerked away and stood up, then began pacing back and forth across the bedroom floor. "Did I do something?"

"No, no," Wesley tried to assure him. He stopped his fidgeting and sat in his desk chair, turning it to face the younger boy. "It's nothing you did. You're… great." And he really was. He was a nice kid, and he was going to be a great boyfriend for someone. Just not for Wesley.

He knew he should have had this talk with Connor long ago. The day after he didn't remember coming on to him, and taking his virginity, in fact, and then every day after that for the last month. He knew that it would only be worse on them both the longer that he waited, but he had been selfish enough to be more concerned with how uncomfortable the conversation would make him, instead of knowing that it would be the right thing, the fair thing, to tell him the truth right away.

"Then…" Conner said, facial muscles pulling his expression into an adorable pout of confusion. "Why don't you want to?"

"I just don't… don't think that a relationship between us going to work out, Connor," Wesley told him, trying desperately to hold the boy's eyes, and not look away like a great big chicken.

Connor knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, in that place that had been born of teenaged insecurity, that it had been too good to be true. Finally getting the boyfriend he'd wanted all of last year, finally getting Wesley to like him and want him back. He knew he'd pushed too hard, came on too strong, but he hadn't been able to help it. When Wesley had made the first move four Saturday's ago, he'd made the unconscious decision to do everything he could to hang onto him.

"Why not?" he asked around the lump in his throat that must have been his heart plummeting into his stomach.

Wesley steeled his resolve and ploughed on. It was too late to wuss out now. "I'm afraid I just don't have those kinds of feelings for you. I never did. I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner than this."

"You don't…" Connor shook his head, as if trying to puzzle out what Wesley was saying. "Then why did you," he stopped and choked back a hiccup, and tried not to cry. Because he might like dick, but he wasn't a girl. "Why did you kiss me? Why did you sleep with me, and tell me I was special, and use me to get off those other times and sit there with my _parents_, and act like you cared, if you don't!?"

He was almost shouting by the end, but at least he wasn't crying.

"I'm sorry," Wesley said again, voice a pained whisper. "I never meant to... well, to be such a fucking asshole, I suppose, but…" he sighed and stood. "It appears my body responds to you in a way my heart doesn't, and I was too selfish and weak to be all that concerned with your feelings, when your lips and hands were… Yes. Well. Again I apologise. I hope we can still be friends, but I'll understand if… well, if that's not possible."

Connor knew he shouldn't ever want to see Wesley again, but something was telling him that the pain in his gut that was a result of being in the same room as Wesley now, was only going to get worse if he couldn't be around him at all. He really liked Wes, really wanted to be his boyfriend, but if he couldn't, he'd have no choice but to settle for being just his friend.

It was a very mature way of looking at things, especially since Connor was so angry and feeling so foolish, and it was a real shame that Connor wasn't nearly as mature in practice as he could be in his head. He still wanted Wesley, and he wasn't ready to give up yet.

He looked at Wesley for a moment and when he spoke his tone was a cross between angry and seductive. "But," he said, doing his best to ignore everything he was feeling at the moment except the familiar arousal he experienced whenever Wesley was around. "Your body responds?"

"Well I… it… yes, but," Wesley stammered, wondering what the hell Connor was getting at. He already felt bad enough, but he supposed it was the very least he deserved, to have Connor make him feel even worse. "I used you," he admitted, bluntly. "It was horrible. _I'm_ horrible." _God_, he wished Connor would stop looking at him like that!

"Please," he begged. "If there is anything I can do, or say, to make up for this, tell me." Right about then, Wesley would have done anything Connor asked him to, to spare the kid's feelings and pride and to alleviate his own guilt.

"You can kiss me."

"What? Connor, I…"

"You asked if there was anything you could do. You can kiss me."

"But I've just told you that-"

"I know what you said, Wes," Connor said, with a slight roll of his eyes. Did Wesley think he was really that stupid? He stripped his t-shirt off over his head in one swift motion, and leant back further on the bed.

The comical way Wesley's eyes bugged out and jaw dropped like a stone made him smile. "You don't want to be boyfriends. That's cool." But it really wasn't. Still, Connor hadn't given up. If he could manage to keep himself in Wesley's life, in Wesley's bed, then maybe… "But you also said you're hot for me. So, I want you to kiss me."

"Connor, I don't think that's a good idea," Wesley said, shaking his head, before taking two steps toward the bed despite his resolve not to.

Connor was pretty sure Wesley was right about that, but it was the only thing he wanted right now, the only thing he needed. "Sure it is."

Wesley wasn't nearly strong enough to prevent his heart from racing, his skin from flushing, his cock from becoming painfully hard, and his rational mind from shutting off, as Connor slowly unfastened his pants, pushed then down his legs and off, and settled back onto the bed, head comfortably resting on Wesley's pillow.

He couldn't prevent the small gasp of pure, carnal desire that escaped his lips when Connor looked at him with such longing, such need, and took his own erect cock into his hand, pumping it, lazily.

"I want you to kiss me," Connor repeated, licking his lips. "I want you to touch me," he added, fingertips sliding over his testicles before they curled around his shaft and glided up to the tip. He closed his eyes and let his knees fall apart, pulling them up and open so that his legs were spread, waiting. For Wesley. "And I want you to fuck me."

And for the love of all that was good and holy, Wesley could not help himself.

He didn't waste much time stripping off his own shirt, and nearly tripped over his pants as they pooled around his ankles and he ambled to the bed. He threw himself down on top of Connor, mouth covering the younger boy's with sudden dominance, teeth clanking against each other and tongues tangling messily.

He reached between them, batting Connor's hand out of the way, and took the boy's cock in his hand, fingers moving quickly over the silky, warm flesh. It was only the second cock, aside from his own, that he'd ever touched, and he'd been so drunk the last time that he barely remembered it.

"Fuck!" Connor cried out, pushing himself further into Wesley's touch and tossing his head back into the pillow. "God, Wes."

Wesley let himself play, let himself enjoy the feel, the contrast between smooth and hard and sticky-wet, the sounds and movements the boy made under him, and he thought, not for the first time, that it was a rather large shame that he couldn't feel anything more for Connor, and couldn't force himself to feel anything less for another boy, who'd never let him do this.

Still, Connor was right. At least to Wesley's seventeen-year-old sex-addled brain, he was right; they had physical desire in common, at least, so what was the harm in enjoying one another a final time, if they both knew that it wouldn't lead to anything?

He started to move his own hips in time with Connor's thrusts, at first completely unaware he was doing it, but then his erection brushed against Connor's, against his own fingers, and his movements stuttered as a bolt of electric pleasure ran through him. After that he timed his movements carefully, wrapped his fingers around them both, and they moved together for long minutes, slippery pre-cum being transferred back and forth and coating them in natural lubrication.

Connor was starting to keen, and Wesley knew that he was getting very close as well, but Connor _had_ asked to fucked, and Wesley was nothing if not accommodating, and so in one fluid motion he bent down to kiss Connor, hard and open-mouthed, let the boy's erection slide out of his hand, and brought his own slippery hardness across Connor's balls and down to his entrance, and pushed.

He supposed he could have warned him before he did it, seeing as it was only Connor's second time, and he hadn't used anything besides their own fluids to ease the way, but he'd been to close, they both had, and Connor didn't seem to be complaining about it.

It hurt. Not as bad as last time, but it hurt. But eclipsing that hurt was so much pleasure that Connor thought he would cry, or scream, or explode. Wesley was inside him, Wesley was touching him, kissing him, panting and moaning and swearing above him because he was getting off being _inside_ him.

It was amazing, the feeling of being filled, of being possessed, the exquisite pressure inside him, rubbing all the right places, and the tight heat of Wesley's fist surrounding his weeping cock, and Connor wanted to stay like this, exactly like this, always.

He knew it would have to end, though, and soon, if Wesley kept moving that way and brushing the tip of his dick over that place inside him and working his fingers so deftly over Connor's own erection. He tried to hold back, and tried some more, and finally the pleasure became too great, too much, and he gladly gave in to it.

Wesley made a vague weeping sound of relief when he heard Connor's shout and felt the boy's release, warm sperm trickling down over his fingers, and arse clenching tightly around him, and he gave up his battle for control over his own body, not that he'd had much to begin with, and after a few stilted thrusts and a silent cry of ecstasy, he emptied himself inside his partner.

He didn't collapse, and he was proud of himself for that, not wanting to crush Connor, but his arms were shaking a bit with the effort of holding himself up as both boys caught their breath and their cocks pulsed out a few leftover half-seconds of orgasm.

He wondered if it was too soon to ask Connor to leave without sounding like an insensitive prick.

No, that wasn't fair. He didn't mind having Connor around, and aside from the whole thing about Connor wanting them to run off to Massachusetts and get hitched, or wait, wasn't that legal in California now? Anyway, the truth was that he wouldn't mind spending more time with Connor, getting to know him better than he'd let himself in the past, as a friend, but despite what Connor had said about being okay with nothing romantic between them, Wesley didn't want to chance leading him on again.

And he was very aware that that's exactly what he'd just done, and he was cursing himself for it. Who would have known that quiet little Connor could turn out to be such a seducer. Still, Wesley should have been stronger. He knew that. But as the last of the tremors ran through his body and the final spark of pleasure faded into a relaxed sort of numbness, he was having a hard time caring.

Connor could feel Wesley shaking, trying not to fall, and though he didn't want to suffer the loss of Wesley pulling free from him, he knew that Wesley needed to lie down, so after he stretched up for a very brief peck on Wesley's mouth, he placed his hands on Wesley's arms and eased him off, guiding him to the bed beside him.

Connor rolled over to face him, but Wesley stayed on his back, staring at the ceiling, breathing long and deep. Connor couldn't help but smile, knowing that it was him who'd knocked Wesley out like this, given him so much pleasure, and he smiled again, when he trailed his hand over Wesley's torso, and it was met and joined by Wesley's, fingers tangling together, and resting over his chest.

He could almost forget that Wesley didn't like him, that he was just using him for sexual release, and that Connor's feelings, as always, didn't matter. The slightest squeeze of Wesley's hand on his, and the barest brush of Wesley's lips on the top of his head was enough. For now.

All he had to do was keep this up, make himself available whenever he thought Wes wanted it, and even more than that, and eventually Wesley would have to fall in love with him. Right?

_Of course he would_, was what Connor thought, and smiled as he nuzzled closer into Wesley, determined to enjoy this peaceful time together before he had to go home.

***

Monday afternoon and Wesley was both excited and nervous to be going to see Lindsey that night. He should be neither, he knew, as it was hardly the first time, and they seemed to have developed a comfortable routine, but the remembrance of what had happened with Connor on the weekend was throwing him off.

He knew it was stupid. What the hell should his sex life matter when it came to his time with Lindsey? Only it did. Because even though he'd been told, he'd seen, and he couldn't help but agree that he'd never be with Lindsey, there was nothing he could do about the part of him that still held that desire. Nothing apart from sleeping with someone else and trying to forget, but clearly that wasn't working.

He sighed and rang the bell, hand clenching around his bag tighter than it needed to and looking around Lindsey's front porch randomly as he waited for the door to be answered. He just had to act normal. Lindsey wouldn't know anything, wouldn't care about anything either way, and if could stop himself from being a complete spaz, his bizarre sort of forced friendship with Lindsey would be unaffected.

Lindsey opened the door, half happy to see Wesley, and half pissed off at himself for being happy. He really couldn't pinpoint why, but he'd been the tiniest bit irritated with Wesley all weekend, and when he considered that he hadn't even seen him all weekend, it just didn't make any sense. And being happy to see someone he was feeling irritated with made even less sense.

"Hey, Wes," Lindsey said, managing a genuine smile, and ushered the other boy in, and to the kitchen table. It was probably nothing, and as soon as they got to sitting and talking and drinking their Monday beer, everything would feel a whole lot better.

And then Wesley would go home and fuck his boyfriend, and not think of Lindsey at all, and Lindsey would sit up in his room wishing he could even care anymore that Fred would let him past second base and wishing that Wesley _was_ thinking about him.

He knew it was fucked up, and he was desperately trying to deny the feelings that had been creeping up on him for the past several weeks, but he couldn't any more. Oh, he could to other people, to Wesley, and he would, but not to himself. He was… curious. He was attracted to Wesley, he knew Wesley was attracted to him, and he couldn't help but wonder… But it didn't matter. He had no intention of acting on it, for many reasons, not the least of which being it wouldn't be fair to Fred, but the curiosity, the willingly repressed desire, was still there.

Wesley was surprised, when he walked into Lindsey's kitchen and sat down in his usual seat, to see that Lindsey's history text, as well as an open notebook and a pen were placed on the table.

"Well, this is a surprise," he said, quirking an eyebrow and offering a tentative smile in the face of Lindsey's prickly greeting. "Are we actually going to get some work done tonight?"

Lindsey gave a small snort and pulled two bottles of beer out of the fridge. "My stepmom was here earlier. Had to make it look like we were really studying." He cracked open both bottles, showing off by using his hand and the countertop instead of a bottle opener like any normal person would, and sat down, sliding one of the drinks across the table to Wesley.

"Good plan," Wesley smiled, taking a sip. "You wouldn't want them to suspect that you were in any way goofing off and drinking beer, instead of getting your schoolwork done."

"Yeah, and you wouldn't want your boyfriend to think we were doing anything besides helping me pass history, right?" Lindsey knew as soon as he said it, petulant and derisive, that he was being stupid, and petty.

He wanted to stomp his foot on the floor and pound his fist on the table and shout 'What are you doing with a boyfriend? You're supposed to like _me_!', and even though that was exactly what he was feeling, he knew, with his rational mind, that it was a bit over the top. His ego was bruised, and it was making him a bit crazy in his head, but he tried not to get too crazy on the outside.

It was stupid, and unfair, and made no sense at all, not that matters of the heart, or curious groin, ever did, but if Wesley was happy with that drummer freak, then Lindsey shouldn't bug him about it.

"I don't have a boyfriend," was what Wesley said, because it was the truth, and he was seriously confused about where Lindsey had gotten that false information.

"Come on, Wes," Lindsey said, smiling and trying to seem unobtrusive and comforting. "You don't have to hide it from me. It's not like he's your first one. Nobody's gonna care." _Except me._

"No, I..." he started, frowning and confused. "Of course I wouldn't hide it, if I did have a boyfriend. But I… I don't. I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about." He thought briefly of Connor, the sweet little boy who'd thought that Wesley was his, and Wesley had done nothing to correct, but there was no way that Lindsey had known about that.

Lindsey was trying to be reasonable, but Wesley's deliberate obtuseness was pissing him off. "Well, that's not what he said when he showed up at your locker on Friday, waiting for you." He was aware he was pouting a little, and aware that it was about the most ridiculous thing he'd ever done.

"What?" Wesley asked, shaking his head and frowning in concentration. "Oh…." He said after a second, when he realized that Lindsey must have seen Connor, waiting for him.

"Oh, so now you suddenly know what I'm talking about?" Lindsey asked, trying not to attack.

"Lindsey," Wesley said, and put his bottle down on the table, resisting the urge to reach across and cover the other boy's hand in his. "It was Connor you talked to, wasn't it?"

"Fucked if I know," Lindsey was aware he was being petulant, but he found it hard to stop. "Skinny-ass little kid from Spike's band, and he shows up saying he's waiting for his boyfriend."

Wesley sighed, and took another drink. "Yes, that was Connor. We're… friends. And he's always had a bit of a crush on me, and lately he's come to think that there's more between us." He didn't quite know why he didn't tell Lindsey the reason that Connor thought it was more, just that he wanted Lindsey to understand that he was most definitely single, for all the good it would do.

Lindsey wasn't nearly as stupid as Wesley would have believed, and he was under no illusions that this Connor could have thought something up, like being Wesley's boyfriend, without any external influence from Wesley himself. And again, he wasn't stupid enough to think that he should care.

He mumbled something about it not being any of his business anyway, but they both couldn't help but think it very much was.

The rest of the evening passed in a veiled tension, each of them doing their level best not to aggravate the other in any way, as they traded random stories about band practice and law class, and tried not to mention anything too personal.

They were both, in their own way, hurt by the turn of the evening, but given that they were, each of them, bent on keeping quiet about anything and everything personal, after Lindsey's accusation, it was hardly surprising.

When Wesley left, at ten o'clock that night, Lindsey tried to smile and act normal and pretend that everything was fine, and from his perspective he did a very good job of it.

Wesley, too, tried to pretend that nothing was amiss between them, but when he walked out the door, and down the path to the driveway, he felt Lindsey's eyes on him, accusing and disapproving, and he hoped beyond hope that the reason for Lindsey's sudden turn in attitude was because Lindsey didn't want to see him with someone else.

Silly and juvenile he knew, but he couldn't help but dream

The next few days passed fairly uneventfully for both Lindsey and Wesley, and it didn't really come as a shock to either of them when Wesley stopped Lindsey out front of their lockers after school on Thursday and told Lindsey he couldn't make it that night because he was busy.

Lindsey saw through it, like they both knew he would, but agreed, because they could both use the time off.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Monday night, Wesley arrived at Lindsey's house, and was ushered into the living room, both boys feeling a little bit foolish over the way they'd felt and acted the previous week, and wanting to get passed it.

It wasn't as easy as it sounded, though. Wesley was feeling wrong-footed, and just as awkward as the first time they'd gotten together like this. A week had passed since Lindsey had made him feel guilty over having a boyfriend that he didn't even have, and the feeling that he'd somehow disappointed Lindsey, as ridiculous as that was, still niggled.

The knowledge that he had in fact lied to him, omitted certain facts when he'd denied his relationship with Connor, sat heavy in his gut. He didn't know why he'd said there was nothing between them. Perhaps because in his mind there really hadn't ever been, except for the sex, but more probably because he wanted Lindsey to know he was very available, should he have some sort of sexual preference shift and decide that Wesley looked good to him.

And Lindsey's reaction to the news about Wesley's 'boyfriend' had given him hope that that was a possibility, however false he knew it probably was. _Blast_, he thought. Things would be a whole lot easier if he could just somehow talk himself into falling in love with Connor.

And thinking of Connor did nothing for Wesley's mood, as Lindsey passed him a beer from the fridge and offered him a somewhat forced smile before sitting down across from him. The poor kid had followed Wesley out of the lunchroom at school on Friday to ask Wesley if he wanted to do something with him on the weekend, and Wes had practically screamed at him, saying things like 'I'm not your boyfriend!', and 'get over it', and 'find someone who actually likes you'. He had, of course, felt awful, and immediately apologised and begged forgiveness, and even hugged the boy, one arm around his waist, the other hand buried in his soft mop of hair and when Connor finally pulled back, eyes glazed over with unshed tears, Wesley had kissed him, gently, on the cheek.

He mumbled a thanks to Lindsey and took a sip from his bottle, then stared down at the empty kitchen table, finding the knots in the wood very interesting.

Lindsey had been out with Fred twice in the last week, and both times they'd ate or watched a movie, or gone for a drive and held hands innocently, and ended the night with a fairly chaste kiss, and Lindsey found himself wanting to push for anything sexual in nature less and less.

It wasn't because he was thinking of Wesley, exactly. He hadn't really thought much of Wesley all week, tried hard not to, but something just seemed to be missing with Fred lately, some sort of chemistry that maybe had never been there in the first place, not for him, and he'd only been trying to force, but Lindsey didn't want to admit that was true.

And again, not because that would mean that he was attracted to Wesley in a way that he couldn't ever be attracted to Fred, and he still didn't think he was gay, but because he really did like Fred, really cared for her, and she meant more to him than anyone else he'd ever dated. More than almost anyone else he'd ever known.

He didn't want to admit what he was really feeling, that their romantic relationship was over, and he didn't want to hurt her by telling her that, but he had a feeling she already knew. She probably knew before he had even figured it out.

Wesley had only been in the house for ten minutes. The two of them had only been sitting at the table for seven of those minutes, and already they were both finished their first beer. It was amazing how much you could drink, and how quickly, when you were going out of your way not to speak.

Lindsey held his bottle by the neck and twirled it around, the base making circles of condensation on the table. "You want another?" he asked, and hoped that Wesley would agree.

"God, yes," Wesley sighed, in relief. He needed something to keep him occupied so that he didn't say or do anything stupid. And perhaps a couple of beers might relax them both enough that they could get back to what had been passing for normal between them lately.

Lindsey let out a soft, honest chuckle and grabbed them two more.

***

An hour and a half, and four beers each, later, they were, in fact, significantly more relaxed.

"Are you out of your mind?" Wesley asked, a little bit drunkenly. "Seriously? Christina Aguilara?" They had moved into the living room at some point and Lindsey had settled on MTV, and had become appreciative of the view, if not the music, when the pop singer's latest hit video came on.

"What?" Lindsey asked, swallowing another large mouthful of beer. "She's hot."

Wesley rolled his eyes. "Oh, please," he said, as if he were an expert on the subject of hot girls. "She just looks so... Anyway, if I were to have sex with a woman it would be someone more like..." _a man_ "Katie Holmes." Because she seemed nice, and sweet, and not really all that sexual in Wesley's eyes, which was a great bonus, because Wesley would have to be imagining Brad Pitt or Denzel Washington anyway.

"Yeah," Lindsey snorted. "I'm sure she'd be real flattered to hear that."

"Well, she's no Viggo Mortensen, but she's a very attractive young lady."

"_Very attractive young lady_? What are you, 70?" Lindsey teased, realising his beer was finished and heading off to the kitchen for another. He pulled one out of the fridge, shrugged, and grabbed another for Wesley, just in case. "I know you're a queer and all," he paused to hand Wesley another bottle and received a lopsided smile of thanks. "But you've got to be able to come up with a girl you'd want to fuck more than Katie Holmes! Besides, she's married."

Wesley took a rather large chug out of his bottle and then rolled his eyes. "Yes, and I'm _gay_." He emphasised the last word, as if it was something that Lindsey was having a hard time understanding.

"And if you think you could do better," Wesley said, wagging his finger from his seat next to Lindsey on the couch, "why don't you tell me what man you find attractive enough to cliff."

_One seriously hotter that Katie Holmes, _Lindsey thought. "Man, if I was gonna have sex with a guy..." he trailed off, becoming momentarily sober at the thought of what he'd just said. _If he was going to have sex with a guy._ It would be someone like Wesley. Not overtly macho, but not effeminate either. Someone who was sexy and smart and funny. Someone who made him laugh and made him feel comfortable, and someone who would look good face down on his bed with his ass in the air, or above Lindsey forcing his hands down and looking _into_ him as they... "George Clooney!" he shouted, and jerked back from Wesley, putting some space between them.

Right. George Clooney. He was hot. Right?

Wesley laughed. "Yes, I would too."

Lindsey was thankful that Wesley hadn't noticed his small brain melt, and decided that a change in subject was in order. "So, since MTV seems to suck pretty hard, you wanna put on some music instead?"

"That depends," Wesley answered dubiously. He didn't trust Lindsey's taste in music any more than he did his taste in television. "What did you have in mind."

Lindsey looked over at Wesley and smiled. "Anything you want," was his answer. It couldn't hurt to be courteous. After all, everything in the house was his, so letting Wesley choose from his own collection wasn't a big sacrifice.

"Alright," Wesley smiled, and got up to get his bag from the hallway. "Play this," he instructed, handing Lindsey a CD and sitting back down on the couch.

Lindsey shrugged and did as Wesley asked him to. Most music was pretty good in his eyes, and he liked to see that little sparkle that crossed Wesley's face when he was happy about something.

He put the disc in the player and sat back down next to Wesley, hitting play on the remote and waiting.

"You're fucking serious?" Lindsey asked after a few seconds, incredulous. "_Hellmouth_?"

Wesley downed the last of his drink and plopped it down on the table next to him. "I happen to _like_ _Hellmouth_," he said, with an air of conviction that only the suitably drunk can properly possess.

Lindsey let it go for a minute, for two, for five, and Wesley seemed to be honestly enjoying the 'music' that was emanating from the speakers. What the hell was wrong with him? This music sucked, and not just because it was Spike's band, but because they... Spike's band. Shit. He should have known.

And the five beers Lindsey had consumed in less than two hours had loosened his tongue significantly.

"You're hot for him, aren't you?" he asked, shaking his head. He should have fucking known.

"I... what?" In Wesley's defence, he really had no idea what Lindsey was talking about.

"Spike." Lindsey spat the word out like it was poison. "You want him. That's why you follow him around, go to see his band, listen to his shitty-ass crap that passes for music. Fuck, why am I surprised?"

_Yes, that's it_, Wesley thought. _One moment I'm Connor's boyfriend, the next I'm in love with Spike_. Wesley had come to gain a great respect for Lindsey and his intelligence over the past weeks, but their interactions of late seemed to be nullifying that opinion. And then it hit him. Like the proverbial tonne of bricks.

"You're jealous!" he stated, proudly, emboldened by the alcohol, and ecstatic at the prospect.

"Fuck off," Lindsey said, casually, dismissively, but he looked down, averted his gaze, and he knew that he'd just given himself away. He _was_ jealous. He'd been thinking, and rightly, for the past month and a half that Wesley had been wanting him, and based on that fact, and unwanted flares of lust that made themselves known from time to time, Lindsey had begun to reciprocate. And yeah, it pissed him off that Wesley wanted someone else, even if Lindsey wasn't prepared to fully return Wesley's feelings.

"You _are_!" Wesley was almost too excited to sit still. "You want me to love _your_ music more, and think that _you're_ the coolest, and like _you_ the best." He looked down a little then, hiding his smile, embarrassed at what he'd just said, but unable to deny the truth in it. "You know I... I... feel... for you, and you want to keep it that way, lest your ego take a hit because I find someone else mildly attractive."

It was that first time that Wesley had openly admitted his feeling for Lindsey, not that Lindsey hadn't known very well how Wesley felt, and he half expected the other boy to laugh at him, to kick him out and say that he was crazy, but instead, Lindsey smiled.

"Let's just listen," Lindsey suggested, and Wesley thought that was the best idea he'd heard all day, and closed his eyes, relaxing back into the couch and feeling the warmth of Lindsey so close by, was able to just sit, and enjoy the music.

Lindsey was right. _Hellmouth_ was terrible. The only reason he'd ever listened to them was because of Spike, but he'd gotten over his crush on Spike long ago, and now he only listened out of a sense of friendly obligation.

And Lindsey couldn't help but think that Wesley hadn't denied the accusation that he was, indeed, hot for Spike. And he didn't know why it bothered him so much.

"I don't, you know," Wesley said after long minutes.

"Huh?" Lindsey asked, eloquently.

"I don't find anyone else mildly attractive. Not when held up against you," Wesley confessed, keeping his eyes closed, hoping that Lindsey wouldn't make him feel terrible about the admission. Fuck, hadn't he sworn off drinking? Yeah, and this was the reason.

Long minutes passed, and neither of them said anything, both sitting remarkably still and listening to the atrocious sounds coming from the stereo. "You know what, Wes," Lindsey offered, after some time. "You're alright." He leaned his head down on Wesley's shoulder drunkenly, gaining comfort and warmth in the gesture and its acceptance. He was suddenly feeling very drowsy.

"I...." Wesley started, pulling back slightly and Lindsey's head came up, just a bit, looking at him.

Lindsey couldn't breathe. He felt himself drawn in, held by Wesley's eyes and unconsciously moving forward, as if he and Wesley were opposite poles of a magnet, and he knew his lips were on a direct path for Wesley's, hoped they were, just a little. And when they were mere millimetres away, and Wesley closed his eyes, taking in a short breath and letting his tongue poke out just the smallest bit from between his lips to moisten them, Lindsey stopped himself, cursing inwardly, and also relieved.

"It's..." he sputtered, pulling back and trying not to seem like he was dismissing Wesley, like he'd only just noticed the time and he was sorry they had to cut things so short. "It's past ten. You can go, if you want."

He hadn't moved though, and Wesley had a feeling that if he insisted, that he forced his hand, he could get Lindsey to agree, to take that next step with him, however scary. "But... I'm not..."

"_Please_," Lindsey begged, and Wesley knew he wasn't ready yet, and if he pushed he might get what he want tonight, but it would definitely come back to bite him in the ass.

"All right," Wesley agreed, not wanting to force him, or make him any more uncomfortable, not when they'd gotten this far. "I'll go. But... I'm afraid I've had a bit much to drink."

Lindsey laughed out loud and got up from the couch, handing Wesley the telephone. "Call Spike. He'll come get you."

Wesley silently agreed and dialled the number. "Spike? Oh, thank goodness. Yes, I'm with Lindsey.... No, I didn't... Yes... no... _NO_... for the love of God, just come and get me! Thank you." He hung up the phone and looked apologetically at Lindsey.

"He'll be here soon."

For the next twenty minutes Lindsey and Wesley did a good job of pretending they hadn't just almost kissed, and didn't still want to, and when Spike showed up, on foot, and banging on the door for Wesley to come out so he could drive the Volvo home, Wesley offered Lindsey a shy smile, before he bolted out the door and straight into Spike's friendly punch in the ribs.

***

The car ride home was silent, but not uncomfortably so. Wesley was enjoying his buzz, head tilted to the side and leaning against the window as he watched houses and streetlights pass by, and thought about Lindsey.

He told Lindsey how he felt about him, not that he hadn't already known, but he'd _told_ him. Plainly and clearly told Lindsey that he liked him, and the world hadn't ended. In fact, he was really beginning to believe that Lindsey might share his feelings, or at least be starting to, or perhaps he'd had some kind of mild stroke, because Lindsey had almost kissed him.

He sighed and sat up straighter as the car pulled into the garage. Lindsey had been drunk, and flattered by Wesley's admission, and even if he _had_ wanted to kiss Wesley tonight, he'd hardly be leaving his girlfriend and jumping into the 'homo affair of the year' with him. Still, he couldn't help but hope that he would.

"Oi. We're home," came Spike's amused voice and Wesley shook his head, realising the car had come to a stop, and Spike had his own door open, waiting for Wesley to follow him.

"Oh, yes, quite," Wesley agreed and got out of the car, walking after a chuckling Spike and into the house. "Sleepover?" he asked, hopefully, as they stood in the hall and toed off their shoes.

Spike snorted. "Sure. On one condition."

"I'm not having sex with you," Wesley warned, trying to sound serious, and lost his balance a little as his second shoe flew into the opposite wall. He managed to catch himself before he fell, though, and had to be proud of that, at least.

"Thank God for that," Spike mumbled. "Alright two conditions. One you stay on the couch. I don't trust you not to take advantage of me while you're like this." Spike's teasing smile, and arm around Wesley's shoulders as he led him down the stairs, let Wesley know that he was joking around, but Wesley couldn't help wholeheartedly agreeing. Last time he'd been drunk he'd managed to seduce someone he found much less attractive than Spike, and tonight he'd already managed to nearly kiss a boy with a girlfriend.

"I'll try to control myself," Wesley said, dryly, and once they reached the bottom of the stairs, promptly stripped down to his boxer shorts and threw himself on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table and head resting comfortably on the cushion. "And the second?"

"That's you controlling yourself, is it?" Spike wondered out loud. "Figures. The second," he said, jumping down on the couch next to Wesley, and making the whole thing shake with the force of it, "is that you tell me all about what happed at Lindsey's place tonight, and why you thought it was such a good idea to drink so much that you had to call me to come get you."

Wesley smiled at the reminder of Lindsey and all that had happened that night, and he twisted around to that he was lying on his back, head propped up on the arm rest and gangly legs draped over Spike's lap. "I think he might be gay."

"You're insane," Spike told him, finger pointing straight at his nose. "There is no way that boy likes dick."

"I don't know, Spike," Wesley slurred, and closed his eyes. "You don't know him like I do."

"_You_ don't even know even like you think you do!" Spike growled, exasperated. "It's been less than two months that he's been _forced_ to spend time with you, and sure, he might be a nice guy, underneath how much of an utter twat he is, and the two of you might even be getting along, but Wes, you don't _know_ him. And he doesn't want you." He hoped he didn't sound too harsh, but damnit, Wesley had to understand this.

"He almost kissed me," Wesley told him, voice far away and with a somewhat goofy grin.

"He what?!" Wesley opened his eyes and laughed out loud at the incredulous look on Spike's face. "You're drunk."

"Mmmm, yes," Wesley agreed. "But it's true. He almost kissed me."

"Oh..." Well, that was... fuck. Could Wesley be right? Could Lindsey really be into guys? Into Wes? Out of all the things in the world that Spike couldn't ever see happening, that was at the top of the list. Right up there with _Hellmouth_ winning a Grammy, and Elvis making a comeback.

But if he _was_ right, if Wesley _did_ have a chance in hell of seducing Lindsey over to the gay side, that meant that Fred was available, and would soon be needed a shoulder to cry on. He thought for a moment that it might be time to up that game a bit, but then came back to his senses.

He sighed and shook his head, denying what Wesley was so convinced of. He had to be misunderstanding something. "Wes, no. You're getting carried away with this crazy obsession of yours, and I'm worried that you're going to get hurt. I care more about you than anyone else in this world, you stupid little shit," he said, and emphasised the insult with a swat to Wesley's calf. "I just... I can't stand to see you getting so worked up over something that's probably all in your head. You're gonna get your heart broken, and then I'm gonna have to feel bad for you, and it'll be a huge pain in my ass."

Wesley said nothing, just continued smiling as if he hadn't heard anything Spike had just said.

"Not that you don't deserve to feel like shit and be made a fool of after the way you've been treating Connor," Spike mumbled, rolling his eyes and throwing his head back against the couch.

"Oh, that's right," Wesley said, sounding as if he'd just remembered something that he'd been planning on telling Spike. "I talked with him."

"Yeah, so I heard," Spike said, moving his head so that he could look at Wesley. Connor had told him that he and Wesley had decided to be 'just friends', and the kid seemed to be taking it pretty well, but it was always hard to tell with him. He tended to feel things pretty deeply and keep the feelings hidden even deeper. "How did it go?"

"Remarkably well," Wesley answered, dozy from the beer, and the comfort of relaxing with his friend. "I fucked him again."

"You wot?!" Spike screamed, and shoved Wesley so hard that he fell off the couch into an undignified heap onto the floor. "As if letting him blow you in the washroom and jerk you off in the bleachers at paintball wasn't enough! You've got to stick your willy in him? Again? When you're supposed to be ending things? Or have you had a change or heart? You planning on making him your sweetie now, or what?"

"There's no need to get sarcastic," Wesley admonished, getting up from the ground and rubbing his ass, which had taken the brunt of the landing. "Or violent," he added, taking his place again on the couch. "I did end things. I told him how I felt, and he told me that it was okay, but that he still wanted to have sex."

"And you didn't see anything wrong with that?"

"You know, for someone who goes through as many girls as you do, you're sure coming down on me pretty hard for one... a few... indiscretions." Wesley tried to sound suitably outraged, but it just came across pouty. So he pouted.

Alright, so Wes kind of had a point. "But..."

Wesley sighed. "Yes I know. But you care about Connor, unlike all of your conquests, and you don't want to see him get hurt."

That, and he didn't want Wesley to be the one doing the hurting. Wesley was better than that, he thought.

"And yes, I did see something wrong with it," Wesley went on, feeling more sober now, and sort of... icky on the inside. "In fact, I told him _no_, but he was persistent, and I was far too weak to deny him. It has been rather a while since I've, er, gotten any," Wesley finished, with a small lip quirk.

A small bark of laughter escaped through Spike's nose and he shoved Wesley's legs out of the way so he could stand. He grabbed the blanket down on the back of the couch and balled it up, throwing it at Wesley's head. "Get some sleep, idiot. School in the morning." He couldn't help thinking that Wesley was only compounding a previous, horrible, mistake by letting this thing with Connor fester, and he could only hope that the two of them would see sanity, soon, because no matter what Connor told Wesley, Spike knew the kid well enough to know that he'd been lying. There was no way in hell he was okay with letting Wesley fuck him whenever he needed to scratch an itch, and nothing more.

Wesley mumbled something incoherent and rolled over, doing his best to spread the blanket out over top of him before he took Spike's advice, and dozed off.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Spike rolled his eyes and took a bite of his cheeseburger. "Why the hell am I even friends with you?" he asked Connor, the slightly upward curl of his lips taking the sting out of the words.

"Oh, come on," he pleaded. "It'll be fun!" There was a school dance tomorrow night, and Connor had spent the first ten minutes of their lunch break trying to convince his friends that they should go.

He did think it would be fun, even if Spike was right, it would probably be sort of geeky, but at least they could all hang out together, and it might give him a chance to get a little closer to Wesley. Mood lighting, music, a few slow dances, and maybe a few discrete, stolen kisses, and was pretty sure he could get Wesley to come back to his place with him afterward.

"You're such a little dork," Faith said, stealing one of his cookies. "Blondie's right. Why the fuck _are_ we friends with you?"

"Oh, you love me," he teased, licking his lips and leaning over to place a slobbery kiss on her cheek.

She pulled a face and made a significant show of wiping off Connor's spit with her sleeve. "In your dreams, freak." She popped the cookie in her mouth to hide her smile.

"Yeah, those school dances are always lame, bro," Gunn added. "There's teachers everywhere, and the music sucks. I heard _Evil Hand_ is playing this one."

Wesley perked up at the mention of that, faltering for a moment in the chewing of his apple, suddenly finding the conversation mildly interesting, but didn't say anything yet.

Apparently it had caught Anya's interest, too. "I wouldn't mind seeing them."

"Are you nuts?" Gunn asked her, and then motioned at Spike and Connor and Faith with his hand, absently. "They're worse than these guys!"

"Oh, yes, they're horrible," Anya agreed happily. "But Angel's nice to look at. He's big, and... glowery. And since Xander's not around for me to look at, I have to look at someone."

"Well maybe," Wesley started, and took a drink of water. "Maybe we should go. It could be fun." And he wouldn't mind the chance to watch Lindsey perform. The way he sounded, voice rough and smooth and dripping sex, the way his fingers moved over the guitar strings, his hands holding it solidly, almost lovingly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world... "Huh?"

"I said," Connor told him, smiling at the way that Wesley had drifted off, "that if nobody else wants to go, then we should go anyway. You know, the two of us." He moved his leg under the table so that his knee was resting against Wesley's.

Wesley momentarily stiffened up, but then forced himself to relax. "I..." he began, trying to think of a good way to answer that, without agreeing to another date with the boy, or making him look foolish in front of their friends.

"We'll all go," Spike jumped in, saving Wesley's ass and shooting him a look that let him know that he wasn't thrilled about it.

"What?" Faith whined. "You're not serious."

Spike threw a french fry at her and snickered. "We can sneak in some vodka and make fun of all the nerds."

"I could do the second one right now," she grumbled, looking around the table at her friends. At least Gunn was on her side. "Fine," she sighed.

The huge grin on Connor's face was enough to ensure that she didn't pout for long, and she shook her head, chuckling to herself. She had to admit, that with these guys around, just about anything could be fun. With the appropriate amount of drugs and alcohol, of course.

***

"So," Spike said on an exhale of cigarette smoke on their way home from school Tuesday afternoon. "Was thinking I'd take you out on a date tonight."

"What?" Wesley spluttered, whipping his head around to stare at Spike and nearly tripping over a crack in the sidewalk.

Spike snickered, and took another drag off his cigarette. "Oh, stop being such a girl. I just thought that we could hang out a bit. Go see a movie. I'll pay. And you don't even have to put out, if you don't want to." He said the last part with a friendly elbow to Wesley's ribs, and a playful smile twisting the corners of his mouth in a way that lit up his entire face.

"I... well of course," Wesley agreed, but he couldn't help thinking it was a bit odd that Spike was asking like this. They'd never needed to make appointments to spend time together, and the fact that Spike had called it a _date_, intentionally trying to lighten the request, was a dead giveaway that Spike was uncomfortable about something.

"Is something the matter?" Wesley asked, frowning.

"Hm? Oh, nothing." At Wesley's sideways, sceptical look he added, "honestly. Just..." Now how the hell could he say this without sounding like that girl he always accused Wesley of being? "We just haven't been hanging out as much as we used to, lately, what with you mooning over Lindsey half the time, and sticking your dick inside Connor the other half."

That was right, he could be an asshole about it. Nothing girly about that. He didn't think he would have minded if Wesley had found someone, really. But the problem was that he'd found two someones. One who he was unfairly using to satisfy his own sexual desires, and the other to actually care about, not that Spike thought Lindsey would ever return the feelings, no matter how much Wesley hoped.

He wouldn't ever begrudge Wesley his happiness, but what was going on now? Was a fucking joke. And it was seriously cutting into his time with his best friend. Not that he was jealous.

Wesley stopped walking for several seconds, and it took Spike almost that long to realise that Wesley was no longer right beside him. He stopped, and turned around and rolled his eyes, heaving an exasperated sigh. "What?"

"Fuck you," Wesley said, succinctly, and started walking again, faster than before and right past Spike, toward their home.

Spike growled and took off after him, catching him up fairly quickly. "Wes, wait."

Wesley did slow down a little, but he didn't wait for Spike to speak. "Well, let's not forget about you and your empty pursuit of anything wearing a skirt! Oh, and all that drooling over Fred you've been doing! Yes, don't think I haven't noticed that."

"Green's not your colour, Wes," Spike said, low and angry. "Just because your stupid little schoolboy fantasy about me never came true, doesn't mean I'm a eunuch!" Oh, shit he knew he should just shut up, should have shut up a couple of minutes ago, but he really was pissed off at Wesley for how he'd been acting lately, and he couldn't help himself.

"Fuck you," Wesley said, again, only this time there was little malice behind it. Instead his voice sounded small, and pleading, and Spike had never wanted to kick himself in the balls more than when he saw Wesley's eyes begin to pool up with tears that Spike was certain he wouldn't let fall.

Wesley had started walking faster again, and Spike followed behind, knowing that he wouldn't be wanted at the moment, and not really knowing what he'd say if was next to him. He gave himself a mental boot up the ass to go along with his kick to the balls, and after several blocks he growled in frustration and jogged forward.

Wesley heard Spike coming up behind him, but tried to ignore it. He still wasn't sure that he wasn't going to cry, and there was no way he was letting Spike see that happen. The jerk. Wesley had gotten over the idea of him and Spike long ago, but he still loved him, more than almost anything, still wanted his love in return and his approval almost as much as he wanted his father's, and he didn't understand why Spike be so cruel.

He pushed down the thoughts that he really meant that little to Spike, that he was only entertainment, an outlet for boredom and teasing, because he knew that deep down, no matter how the blond liked to play it, that he loved Wesley more than anyone ever had, and he truly, honestly believed that, barring these fits of... whatever they were... between them, that Spike would never want to see him hurt.

He jumped, very slightly, and his heart almost stopped, as he felt something brush against his hand on his way up the front walk to his house, but he quickly realized that it was Spike's hand, and even though he hated him, just a little, at that precise moment, he allowed the touch, and closed his own fingers around the questing ones.

They stepped inside, and Spike dropped Wesley hand, sliding his backpack off his shoulder onto the floor, and took his friend in a meaningful hug. "I'm sorry," he said.

Wesley blinked back his still unshed tears and grabbed onto Spike just as hard as he was being held. "I know," he said, fingers digging into Spike's shirt. "I know I've been... distracted lately, and I know I haven't been making the best choices, and I'm sorry, too, but..." But how could you be such an ass?!

Spike really had to agree with that statement about Wesley not making the best choices. But he'd already had his say on that, and this really wasn't the time. "I'm sorry," he said again, pulling back, and offering a half smile, and shrugging a little. "I just... I miss you." And for Spike, emotion didn't get any more vocal than that.

Wesley smiled briefly and ducked his head, forehead resting in his palm, and took a deep breath. "Movie," he said, raising his head, and kicking Spike in the toe. "Pick me up at seven."

Spike half smiled for a fraction of a second, and then straightened out his face. "Well that's only three hours!" he said, pretending to be outraged. "How am I going to find the perfect outfit for the perfect man on such short notice?" He was joking around, Wesley knew that, but that part about Wesley being the perfect man? That was entirely accurate, as far as Spike was concerned, for someone lucky enough to realise it.

***

"Get the hell out of my light," Angel groused, and adjusted his mic stand for the seventh or eighth time.

"Sorry," Oz said, not sounding sorry in the least. "I didn't think that your performance could be improved by your ability to see. My bad."

Angel scrunched up his nose at Oz and then turned to Lindsey. "So we good, or what?"

"Yeah," Lindsey said, taking one last look around. "I think so. 'We'll do alright tonight." And they would. They always did, but they never did great, and he wasn't under any delusions that tonight would be an exception.

Angel sat down on the stage, feet dangling over the edge, and absently fiddling with his drumsticks as he looked out into the gymnasium, that some committee was currently transforming into a dance hall.

Lindsey joined him, and Oz gave a mental shrug, going to sit beside his friends, and they were quiet for several minutes.

"Buffy let me fuck her in the ass," Angel advertised, for no apparent reason other than he wanted to show off.

Lindsey laughed, out loud, and hard, and Oz smirked, and let his ankle swing to his right just enough that it caught Angel's before swinging back. "Awesome, isn't it?" he asked, discretely adjusting his crotch. He couldn't be less interested in Buffy, but the idea of nailing someone in the ass got him thinking about Doyle.

"Not that I'd know," Lindsey said, kicking Angel in his other leg. "Fred won't even let me do it the way God intended." And he wasn't bitter about that. Really, he wasn't.

"I'm sure your little study buddy would," Angel laughed, and Oz couldn't help but crack a smile. "Well, maybe not the way God intended, but at least you'd know what we were talking about!"

"Shut the fuck up," Lindsey warned him. "I'm fine."

"You know," Oz told him, being slightly more possessing of brain than Angel, "If you did, you know, with Wes, It'd be cool."

Angel snickered and smacked Lindsey in the leg with one of his thin, wooden sticks. "Yeah," he said, thinking it was pretty funny, since just about the last person, besides himself, obviously, that he could see turning homo, was Lindsey. "That might be the only way you're gonna get any for a while."

"Fuck, you two have no idea what you're talking about!" Lindsey groused, and Angel snorted, but Oz merely looked at him, and couldn't help but seriously think Lindsey was so much closer to taking Angel's joking advice than even he knew.

"Fred coming tonight?" he asked.

Lindsey shook his head. "She'll probably come for a bit, but she's got a big English test tomorrow, and wants time to study for it. Guess I won't have a cheer squad tonight."

_You will if Wesley shows up_, Oz thought, but didn't say it. "Doesn't matter," was what he said. "Doyle won't be here either." No, he'd be meeting Oz after his shift at the Espresso Pump, and going home with him to get seriously screwed into oblivion, but he think he needed to rub that in.

Lindsey puffed out a breath and stood, walking across the stage and going over his mic set up and guitar one last time. He didn't want to think about Fred, or Wesley or anything right now, but music.

***

"You think I'm going in there all sober and shit, you're out of your mind," Faith announced, as she met up with Spike, Wesley and Connor outside the school. "This," she announced, pulling a joint out of her pocket and sparking it up on the front steps of the school, "this is my price for subjecting me to your fucking lame-ass, school spirit."

"Price I'm happy to pay!" Connor smiled and took a hit, then passed it to Wesley. "Oh. Fuck, this dance just got so much better!"

Wesley laughed lightly at Connor and accepted to offer, taking three very deep hits before passing it on to Spike. He was feeling nicely light by the time his turn was over, and feeling very glad he'd brought that mickey of gin with him. He couldn't finish it himself, wouldn't want to, but shared with three of his friends it would be perfect. And it was.

It wasn't long after Wes cracked the top on his bottle and passed it around and Spike crushed the roach under the steel toe of his boot and they headed inside, that they met up with Gunn and Anya, and they all made their way to the dance floor, laughing over their own and each other's states of inebriation. And everyone around them, who seemed to be having a genuinely good time, despite their utter sobriety was damned funny, too.

"Fuck, look at that guy!" Faith laughed, for no real reason, other than he was dancing, quite enthusiastically, to some of the worst music she'd ever heard, and grabbed Wesley's hand, pulling onto the dance floor to do the same. "You'd think the poor son of a bitch had been dancing lessons from you."

Wesley chuckled as she shook her head, and couldn't help but agree, even if he did find it slightly insulting. He was no Fred Astaire, but he enjoyed himself, thank you very much. He held onto Faith, tried to lead her, but not too long after realised it was a losing battle, and danced out the rest of the song, proud of himself for only sneaking the odd glance at the stage, at Lindsey.

It was a fairly fast song, and it ended fairly quickly, and Faith and Wesley broke apart laughing, and when the next song started up, a slow song, Gunn cut in and grabbed Faith's hand, and they were off together, dancing quite beautifully, Wesley had to admit. He'd never thought about it before, but they looked... good. Together.

He wasn't standing around by himself for more than a few seconds, when Spike swooped up behind him and wrapped his arms around him, whisking him away into a terrible farce of a romantic dance.

Wesley laughed, and went with it. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked, smiling and allowing himself to be dipped quite dramatically.

"Dancing," Spike shrugged and closed his arms tighter around Wesley and allowed himself a small chuckle into Wesley's hair. "We're good, aren't we?" Spike just had time to ask, before they were interrupted by a giggling Fred and Connor.

"You two are so cute!" Fred told Spike, as she danced off with him, and watched Connor latch onto Wesley. "And so are they," she said, looking at Wesley and Connor, and thinking of what an adorable couple they would make. If she didn't know that Wesley was very much interested in someone else, and that that someone was interested right back, even if he wouldn't admit it yet.

She'd come to the dance for only a few minutes, because Lindsey had asked her to, and she didn't want to disappoint him. She'd been standing along the wall for almost a quarter of an hour, just watching Lindsey and his band, and wishing that things could be different with Lindsey, that he could love her like she wanted him to, and then she'd seen Spike, and Wes, and couldn't help but giggle, and think that Spike was just so sweet, and cute, and then Connor had grabbed her hand and asked if she wanted to help him cut in, and she just couldn't resist.

"Well," Spike said, trying not to pull the girl too close to him. "I wouldn't get too used the sight of them. It's not going to last."

Fred frowned. "Why not? They look so great!" They really did, and even though she agreed with Spike, there was a selfish, broken-hearted part of her that didn't want it to be true, and she wasn't sure she wanted to hear his answer.

Spike sighed, and moved his hands so they were wrapped around Fred in the proper places. "Wes has a thing for someone else, and until he can get over it, he's not going to be happy with Connor."

Fred nodded and gave Spike a squeeze before allowing herself to be pushed back and dipped. She giggled and smiled and was pulled back up and almost _almost_ kissed Spike before she remembered herself and went back into something that resembled an actual dance.

"It's Lindsey, isn't it?" she asked, trying to hide her resigned disappointment. She'd accepted that Lindsey's interests were shifting a while ago, but it still wasn't easy. Luckily Spike was around, and he made just about everything easier. "I heard. And honestly, Linds hasn't been the same lately, so I can't really say I'd be surprised if... you know..." She ducked her head into his shoulder and he held his breath. "I wouldn't even mind." _Not entirely, not anymore._

***

"I wouldn't wish dancing with Spike on anyone," Connor joked, and spun Wesley around, then pulled him in, so that they were chest to chest with Wesley having no means of escape. "Consider me your knight in shining armour."

"Well, thank you, good sir," Wesley answered, grinning, and fell into step alongside Connor, the drug and the booze making him significantly more pliable than he'd normally be. "I owe you a great debt."

Wesley allowed his eyes to drift between Connor, in front of him, touching him, smiling at him, and Lindsey, up on the stage, and commanding attention and covetous appraisal like Wesley knew he would, and he tried to hide the drool, and the hardness of his dick at the sight.

Shit, he needed that boy. He ached for him, his body felt empty without him, his soul hollow. Yes, sure it wasn't nearly as bad as he fancied it at the moment, his desire not nearly so strong, but he was high, and merrily drunk, and at this moment he loved Lindsey like he didn't think he was capable of loving.

Connor knew Wes was high, and drunk and probably mostly humouring him, but he couldn't help the part of him that internally jumped in delight when Wesley accepted his dance, his arms around him, his fingers tickling Wesley's neck, or the part that leaned forward, slowly and carefully, and covered Wesley's lips with his own.

And as much as Wesley wanted to resist, he had to give in, to accept the kiss and return it, and push his whole body against Connor's, and feel the younger boy's proud erection through his jeans and against Wesley's hip. Damn. In the back of his mind he knew this was bad. Very, very bad, but at the moment he didn't seem to care, and he spent the next two songs plastered to Connor's side, and not giving a rat's arse about anybody else.

***

Faith had somehow managed to get herself tangled up in Gunn's arms, and as much as she'd liked to have pretended that she didn't like it, that she didn't feel more comfortable than she'd ever felt, and wasn't getting turned on, like nobody's business, by his proximity, she couldn't lie to herself.

Or to Spike, who, over Fred's head was taking a very long, very hard look at the two, and was noticing a spark between them large enough to power the whole block, not that they'd admit it.

The song slowly died out, and as it ended Fred went off to the library, giving Spike some excuse about needing to study for a test, and Gunn took off, blowing Faith a kiss, like he always did and giving her a friendly elbow bump, and Spike and Faith were left, standing alone, and watching Connor and Wesley, and Anya in the corner checking out Angel, and with a mutual shrug they came together and started moving to the next song.

"You're tense," Faith whispered in his ear. "What's wrong?"

He wanted to tell her all about what he thought of Fred, and how she kept on giving him hints only to run off and pretend it never happened, and how that was okay, because he had no plans to steel someone else's girl, not that Fred could ever be stolen, because that girl only ever did exactly what she wanted to, but how it wasn't okay because he really, really wanted to be with her.

But that would have made him feel overly exposed. Besides, she seemed to be having some romantic troubles of her own that she didn't feel like talking about, so he just shook his head and nodded toward Wes and Connor. They were even more a problem as far as he was concerned.

"He doesn't understand. Connor's in love with him. And he keeps leading the poor little bastard on, without any intention of making anything real happen between them, and he's only going to break the stupid kid's heart, the son of a bitch."

"Spike," Faith said, and kissed him on the mouth. "Connor knows what he's getting into. Wes told him he's not interested in more than a fuck buddy, and if he's not okay with it, he shouldn't have said he was."

"Mmm," Spike answered, non-committaly, and chased Faith's lips in a vacant kiss. She didn't understand, because she'd never been in love, how hard it was to think rationally, when the object of so much intense emotion was so close, and yet so far. Connor would do anything to make Wes love him, and Wes never would, and Spike's heart broke for them both.

"Let's not think about them anymore," he said, because it was completely killing his buzz.

"No problem," Faith answered, with a lascivious smile and kissed him again.

***

Lindsey, from his position on the gym stage, watched the crowd. People dancing, and groping and drinking, and pretending not to drunk, and trying to avoid a teacher's notice, and he saw Fred. Standing by the wall, and smiling up at him, and he felt bad for her. That she was alone, and watching him, without any of her friends to keep her company, while he got off on being the source of entertainment for the entire school.

He loved music. He loved to play, he loved to perform, and most of all, he loved to be loved, and when he saw Fred walk onto the dance floor with that skinny little Emo shit-head who liked to think that Wesley was his boyfriend, he was more confused than he was pissed off.

But she didn't dance with him. And when he saw who she did dance with Connor was starting to look pretty damned good. Spike. What the hell was she doing with him? He took a very deep, internal breath, and tried to let it go. It didn't mean anything. He knew they were friends, as much as it galled him, and she'd never go for that kind of punk-ass loser, right? Right.

A few more breaths and a few more bars and he was actually feeling pretty good, even watching his girl with another guy. Not that he could really call her his girl anymore, if he was being honest with himself. But then he turned his head, and caught sight of Wesley. Dancing. With Connor. And his grip on his guitar became so tight that he was afraid he would actually crack the wood.

_What the fuck_?! He thought, strumming the next chord especially hard. Wesley had told him that he wasn't going out with that little shit, and there they were, all over each other, and Lindsey wouldn't have been surprised if Wes had taken his pants off and bent over right there, letting the fucker take him in front of everyone.

He sighed, and closed his eyes and tried to calm down, to get back to the music, and ignore everything else. Fuck Fred, and her dancing with Spike where the whole school could watch, and see that he and her weren't even a real couple anymore, and fuck Wes for dancing with Connor, for kissing him and letting himself be touched, when Lindsey had _known_ for a _fact_ that not two days ago Wesley had wanted to kiss _him_, be touched by _him_.

And fuck the fact that he was jealous, of all of them, in some fucked up way, but of Connor most of all, because Wesley had clearly lied to him. He most definitely had something going with the younger boy, and Lindsey couldn't possibly hide the fact that he wanted it to be him.

And most certainly not to Oz, who had noticed the movement of Lindsey's eyes, and the slightest faltering of his rhythm and lyrics, and been able to trace it all back to one person. Lindsey totally had a thing for Wes.

Huh.

***

Midnight was fast approaching, that dreaded hour when the school turned back into a pumpkin or however the hell Cinderella went, and Lindsey breathed an unconscious sigh of relief when Spike left with Faith, and he knew that Fred was safely tucked away in the library, studying.

Not that it would have mattered, really. They were over, and they both knew it. It was just a matter of who could drum up the courage to say it first.

His heart seized up and sank, though, when he saw Wesley and Connor stop dancing in order to kiss each other, soundly and intensely, on the mouth, and then take off, walking in the direction of the exit together. They couldn't be... shit, they were going home together. Wesley had a boyfriend, and he was going to have sex with him, probably not for the first time, because he'd probably been lying to Lindsey, and Lindsey was too late.

Not that he'd have been ready for... well, he wouldn't have been ready, anyway, but it still stung, in a ridiculous, irrational way, and he wanted Wesley all to himself.

He played the remainder of the night in a blind, distracted haze, packing up and loading his stuff into his truck without much comment or thought for anything, really, and he ignored Angel's remarks on how he could have done better and felt his face redden as Oz told him he that he understood, and it was okay.

And then he went, to the library, to pick up Fred.

"How'd the studying go, babe?" he asked her, bending down next to her at the study table and placing a kiss on her cheek.

"Oh, you know," she told him, smiling and packing up her books. "Like studying always goes. I'm pretty sure I'll do well."

"You always do," he said, and smiled sadly, brushing the knuckle of his middle finger across her cheekbone. She really was beautiful. "You ready to go?"

"Yep!" she chirped, and stuffed all her things into bag, then stood up and started for the door with Lindsey. "I came, for a few songs," she told him, as he held the door open for her to walk through. "You were good."

He didn't say anything until they were both inside his truck and on their way to Fred's house. "I saw you," he said, quietly, when he finally spoke.

She glanced up at him and then quickly looked back out through the front window, into the dark. "You mean dancin' with Spike? That wasn't..."

"I know it wasn't," he assured her, hoping it that it in fact wasn't. "But it..." he stopped and sighed, not quite knowing what it was, or what to say or how to say it. This was it. It was over. They both knew it, but what the hell was he supposed to say?

It turned out he didn't have to say anything. When he pulled up out front of her house she leaned across the cab to kiss him, quickly and sweetly. "Take care of yourself," she told him, and she opened her mouth again, to say something, she didn't know what. To beg him maybe? To not turn gay, to not leave her, to be with her and love her and want her like she thought he would, but she'd come to accept that he wouldn't, couldn't, a while ago, and now she really did understand.

Lindsey almost wanted to tell her to stop, that they didn't have to do this, when he saw one lone tear trickle down her cheek and fade off somewhere around her chin. He almost said _no, we can make this work_, he almost told her that he loved her, because if that had been true, she would have stayed with him, and a part of him really, really wanted that. Instead he said, "You too," and smiled a crooked smile.

"And it's not like we'll never see each other again," Fred said, trying, like she always did, to make the best out of everything. "We'll still be friends."

"Sure we will."

She nodded and turned to open the door, but turned back before she got the chance. "Just..." she said, her hand still gripping the door handle for dear life. "Don't be afraid to be happy."

She fled the truck quickly after that, and Lindsey drove away, frowning. It had gone much better than he ever could have hoped, and he didn't feel nearly as empty as he thought he would, not being with Fred anymore. But... what the fuck was wrong with everyone? Why did people think that just because he had this sudden and new desire to fuck Wesley into next week, that it had anything to do with his happiness?

It had nothing to do with his emotions. Sure it didn't. He nodded and drove home.

***


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

It hadn't taken Connor nearly as much convincing as he thought to get Wesley to come home with him. He'd only had to grab his crotch through his pants on the dance floor and promise Wesley that he could do whatever he wanted with it when they were at his house, safely tucked away in his room. And Wesley had practically led the way there, nearly jogging the whole 8 blocks, and racing up the stairs, dragging a laughing Connor behind him.

They had come together as soon as the door closed, Connor assuring him that his parents were gone for the night, and they barely managed to separate their lips enough to pull their shirts up over their heads, and didn't even bother trying as they frantically worked their pants down and off.

"Fuck, Connor, yes!" Wesley cried as Connor took his hard dick in his hand, pumping it slowly, fingers extending to tickle over Wesley's balls on the down stroke. "Fuck, I've got to have you."

He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, like he had last time, and all the times before that, that this wasn't a good idea. But fucking hell, Connor had been all over him, all night, driving him mad, and he wasn't exactly in control of his faculties, and now Connor was _naked_, and so was he, and it was all he could do not to just throw the boy down and take what he wanted.

Connor, if it was possible, was even more eager for this than Wes, and he wrapped his arms around the older boy, tumbling them to the bed together, lips still closed over each other's, tongues still tangling and searching. Wesley wrestled Connor under him, though it didn't take much effort, but as he tried to nudge Connor's thighs apart the boy stopped him, pulling his mouth away, and putting a hand on Wesley's chest.

"I was kind of..." he started, and closed his eyes, suddenly embarrassed. He was glad they were both kind of drunk, still, because he didn't think he'd have the courage to ask for this if he were sober, but he really, really wanted it.

"You were..." Wesley prompted, not really listening to what Connor was saying, not really interested. He just wanted to get on with it, because Lindsey had looked extraordinarily hot that night, and Connor was _very_ good at this, and Wes was extremely worked up, and if he didn't get to fuck something, soon, he thought he might die. He went back to kissing him, lips placing small signs of affection over his jaw and neck and shoulder, and tried to wriggle his way between the boy's legs again, but Connor's voice stopped him.

"I was hoping that I could, you know... be on top." He bit his lip and looked down, both because he was feeling shy about asking, and also because he knew Wes thought he looked cute like that, and more than once that combination of sweet and coy had gotten him what he wanted. He hoped it would this time, and he hoped that Wesley wouldn't just up and leave because he'd asked, and go find someone else to get his jollies with.

Wesley didn't leave, but he did sit up, abruptly, and shake his head. "No," he said, simply, and directly, but he couldn't deny that his body was screaming _yes_. It had been a while since he'd taken it. A very long while and he was almost desperate for it again but... not here, not now, and not with Connor.

Stupid, he knew, but he didn't love Connor, not even close, and it hadn't stopped him from doing everything else they'd done, but he knew if he let Connor top, that the dynamic between them would be changed, that Wesley would be made, only temporarily, and only in his own mind, to feel vulnerable. And he had always been the type to want to save that feeling for someone that he truly cared about. Like Andrew. Like Lindsey.

"I'm sorry," he told Connor at the younger boy's crestfallen expression, hand reaching forward to tangle in his thick brown hair. "It's just that... I don't..." There was really nothing he could say that wouldn't sound horrible, he knew that, but he nonetheless desperately searched through his mind for the thing that would be the least offensive.

"No, I get it," Connor said, voice biting and harsh. He pulled back out of Wesley's reach and sat up on the bed, glancing down, and noticing, horrified, that Wesley's erection was starting to wilt, but his own remained unaffected by the sudden change in mood. "I'm good enough for you to use to get your rocks off, but since you don't really even like me, you're sure as hell not going to return the favour!"

Wesley dropped his eyes to the bed between them and took a shaky breath. He couldn't deny what Connor had just said; it was the truth, and at least they both realised that, but he still felt terrible. "I'm sorry." It seemed like he said that a lot to Connor. This... arrangement... between was completely destructive, and Spike was right, it had to end. "I'll go."

Wesley adjusted his weight and made to swing his legs over the edge of the bed and get up, but Connor's vice-like grip on his wrist stopped him. "Don't," the boy said, quietly.

Wesley shook his head in confusion, but remained where he was for the moment. "Connor..." Not five seconds ago Connor had looked like he wanted to hit him, and not he was asking him to stay? What the hell was he playing at?

"Don't go," Connor said again, as quiet as the first time, and then his eyes shot up to meet Wesley's, pleading and insistent. "_Please_."

Wesley tugged on his arm and was slightly surprised when Connor let go of it immediately. "I really don't think I should stay."

Connor was a blur of movement, and before Wesley could even tell what was happening, his flaccid cock was enveloped in Connor's warm mouth, lips and tongue and teeth dancing over the skin and restoring him back to full hardness.

He cried out, from surprise and pleasure and his hands shot down to Connor's head with the intention of pulling him away, but Connor chose that moment to swallow, very slowly and deeply, around Wesley's length, and Wesley only ended up pushing the boy's face closer his pelvis, thick patch of pubic hair, tickling his nose.

Wesley had never gone from complete disinterest to painful arousal in so short a time, and when Connor pulled away from him not even a minute later, spared a quick moment to grab a tub of Vaseline off his bedside table and hand it to Wesley before lying down, on his stomach, and raising his hips slightly, to display his entrance to Wesley, Wes thought he would shoot his load on the spot.

But then Connor turned and looked up at him, his face a picture of hurt and anger, and commanded "do it," in that same hard tone as before, and Wesley managed to come back to himself a very tiny bit, and remind himself that this was very wrong. He shook his head and tried to back up, but his traitorous body only moved forward a few inches so that he was kneeling almost behind Connor.

"Connor..."

"Just fucking do it!" He felt rejected enough that Wesley obviously didn't care enough about him to let him do the fucking, he'd told him already, a couple of times, that he didn't like Connor as anything more than a friend, but now Wesley didn't even want _this_? Was Connor really that disgusting?

Wesley saw the silent question in Connor's eyes, along with a healthy dose of glistening salty water, and shook his head, moving close enough that he could smooth a comforting hand over the boy's flank. Connor jumped slightly at the touch, but relaxed into it quickly enough, closing his eyes and puffing out a sharp breath.

"This was a bad idea, Connor," Wesley said gently. "Keeping up a physical relationship when one of us wants more out of it than the other. I don't feel about you the way you want me to, but that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you."

He felt Connor's body twitch and his breath catch slightly and leaned forward to place a kiss on the small of his back. "You're a wonderful person, attractive and funny and incredibly caring, but I just don't..." he sighed, attempting to further gather his thoughts. "But we've been through all this. And for God's sake you don't need to offer yourself up like a whore just to get some attention!"

He felt Connor flinch and cursed himself for getting so angry, for being so insensitive, but he found himself suddenly and extremely hurt by the way that Connor was acting. Wesley had thought that they were both getting something out of this, but the way Connor was behaving at the moment seemed to imply that it hadn't been the case. He hated Connor for just a second, for letting himself be used, and for letting himself be miserable, and for the part he'd continued to play in Wesley being such a complete bastard.

Wesley crawled forward again, laying himself down on the bed next to Connor and pulled the other boy to him, hands rubbing back and forth across Connor's arms, a gesture meant to comfort and calm them both. "You deserve better than this," he whispered, lips ghosting over the shell of Connor's ear.

Wesley was right, Connor did deserve better, but fuck it all, this was what he wanted! Okay, he wanted so much more from Wesley than empty physical gratification, but it _was_ immensely gratifying, and at least he could pretend for a little while, when they were like this. He took Wesley's hand, entangling their fingers, and turned just enough that he could meet Wesley's lips with his own.

Wesley froze, but after several seconds, responded. He wasn't hungry or demanding like he had been a few minutes ago, and the kiss lacked a great deal of passion, but it was honest, and Connor appreciated that. "Please," he asked again, and pushed his hips back against Wesley's.

Wesley closed his eyes and tightened his hold on Connor before reaching for the previously discarded Vaseline. _This is wrong_, he reminded himself, and Connor deserved so much more than Wesley was willing to give him, but at least he could give him this.

***

"That's been better," Faith said, on an inhale of smoke from Spike's cigarette as they lay together on his basement cot, naked and sweaty and not particularly satisfied.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Spike voice was facetious, holding a hint of humour. "Would her majesty like me to try again?"

"I'm begging you not to," Faith said, rolling over and pulling her shirt on.

"Fuck off." Spike swung his legs around too, looking for his underwear as Faith slid into her tight-fitting pants. "It's not like I was the only one who didn't perform at the level they were expected."

"What the hell does that mean?"

Spike looked at her as if she was very, very slow. "What the hell do you think?"

"Well, maybe if you hadn't been thinking about Lindsey's little twig the entire time, it would have gone a bit better."

"And maybe if you hadn't screamed out 'harder Gunn', I would have been able to focus!"

Faith looked up then and snorted, and shortly after erupted into a fit of giggles, and soon had Spike joining her. They fell back onto Spike's bed, side by side, Faith fully clothed and Spike at least in his underwear, and they shared the rest of the cigarette in silence.

"You should go for it," Spike told her, when he'd crushed the butt out in the ashtray on the table next to the bed.

"Huh?" She blinked at him and tried hard not to fall asleep. It had been a long day, and she had to be up early for work in the morning.

"Gunn. You should go for it."

"No way." She shook her head. "I'm not his type."

"What? Smart, hot, funny, talented and great in bed... usually... isn't his type? How could it not be?"

"Cute," she said, narrowing her eyes. "No, I just... don't have a lot to offer. To, you know, a boyfriend."

"Pet," Spike told her, turning to face her and looking far more serious than he usually did. "You've got so much to offer that poor old Charlie won't know what to do with it all."

They'd been fucking for quite a while, Spike and Faith, and she usually had an incredible time, usually looked forward to it and was sort of sad when it was over, but it was times like these, the times Spike made her feel like she was good, special, and... loved... that she treasured most of all. He was certainly a hell of a friend.

***

Wesley woke up the next morning feeling like shit, and not even because of the booze and pot he'd consumed the previous night. He felt sick about the way he'd treated Connor, in general, but especially last night, when he'd heartlessly fucked the boy as Connor silently sobbed into his pillow, and left as soon as they'd finished, leaving Connor in messy pile of cum and tears, without a word.

He'd wanted to say something, to reassure him somehow, but he knew anything he said would be either lies or empty platitudes, so he'd kissed him on the back and dressed quickly, and when Connor didn't turn to face him afterward, too ashamed to show Wesley what he was feeling, Wesley had left him to it, and went home to his own misery. He hated himself for what he was doing, and he was beginning to hate Connor for not only letting him, but encouraging it.

He stomped down the stairs into Spike's room at 7:30 in the morning, showered and dressed and ready for school, knowing that Spike would be none of those things and not caring in the least. He wasn't surprised to find him in bed, empty bottle of Jack Daniels, and a ashtray full of cigarette butts of the floor, groaning and pulling the covers up over his head at the racket Wesley was making.

"Get up," he said, feeling unreasonably angry at Spike for still being asleep, and grabbing hold of the covers, yanking them down and off the bed. "Oh, God, would it kill you to sleep with _something_ on, at least?"

Spike snickered as Wesley shielded his eyes to avoid looking at Spike's naked body. "Get over it," he said, voice hoarse, and lazily stretched out his entire body before rolling over so that at least his morning erection was hidden between him and the mattress. "Not like you've never seen it before," he mumbled into his pillow.

"Yes, and I was hoping I'd never have to again," Wesley said, dryly. "I'm traumatised enough, thank you."

Spike turned his head and opened his eyes the tiniest bit, looking at Wesley through the slits. "What the hell is wrong with you this morning?" He'd been awake for less than a minute, and already he could tell that Wesley had woken up on the seriously wrong side of the bed that morning. Only question was whose bed?

Wesley sighed, half in frustration that Spike still wasn't getting up, and half in frustration at himself for taking out his sour mood on his friend. He sat down on the bed and leaned back, using the blond's bare arse as a place to rest his elbows.

"Fuck, watch where you're sticking those!"

Wesley snorted, smiling briefly and moved over a few centimetres. "Sorry," he said. "Rough morning. Rougher night."

Spike turned his head again to hide his face in his pillow, hoping that Wesley would take the hint and leave him alone. "I don't want to hear about it," he told him, and he really didn't. He knew what had probably happened with Connor, and he felt bad, for both of them, but Faith had been right. This was their problem.

"Yes, well," Wesley said, sitting up straighter and looking across the room. "School starts in half an hour."

"Not today it doesn't," Spike mumbled. "Not for me, at least. I'll try to make it in for lunch."

Wesley rolled his eyes and stood to leave, picking up Spike's blanket from the floor and carrying it with him. He dumped it again at the foot of the stairs before he started up them. _There_, he thought with a nod. Now Spike would either have to get up, or freeze.

"Dick," Spike called out, as loudly as he could without making his headache worse.

"Lazy shit," Wesley answered, but when he went upstairs they were both smiling.

***

Thursday night at Lindsey's house was tense at first. Wesley was still feeling guilty over the Connor situation, and seeing Lindsey was only making it worse. He couldn't help but feel that he had betrayed Lindsey somehow, even though it was utterly ridiculous. There was nothing going on between them, they hadn't even _kissed_, for the love of God, and Lindsey was in a relationship!

Wesley should feel free to do whatever he wanted with whomever he wanted, but he didn't. They'd _almost_ kissed. And that almost had been enough to give Wesley hope that something might change between them, and the last thing he should have been out doing was sleeping with somebody else, using somebody's body for his pleasure and somebody's emotions against them to get what he wanted.

He was exaggerating, he knew. It hadn't been entirely his fault, and he hadn't behaved that badly, considering, but it had still been wrong. For more than one reason.

And Lindsey, though he didn't feel like he had any right to be, was angry. And the fact that he felt his emotions were unjustified only made him angrier, and he'd been taking that anger out on Wesley, snipping at him and ignoring him, and kicking his ass, mercilessly, in several violent video games.

He didn't know exactly what was going on with Wesley and Connor, but the little freak had told him that they were together. Wesley had denied it, and he'd believed him, but then last night he watched them dance and kiss and leave together, and even though, really, it wasn't any of his business, he wanted to scream, or punch Wes in the nose, or probably both, because Wesley had lied to him.

"What the hell is your problem, Lindsey?" Wesley asked, uncharacteristically aggressively, after Lindsey's avatar shot Wesley's an unnecessary twenty or so times, in the head, chest and primarily groin, while disturbingly realistic looking blood trickled from the animated wounds and Lindsey mumbled something obscene.

"What are you talkin' about?" he asked, scowling, and tossed his game controller down on the table in front of them. "I'm just playin' the damn video game. Not my fault if you suck at it."

"No, but is your fault that you've been cold, and rude, and have barely said two words to me, since I've arrived, that could be any way construed as friendly."

Lindsey took a short, deep breath, to calm himself somewhat and nodded. "Yeah. I just really don't feel like doin' this tonight."

Wesley narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Doing what?" he asked, and then shook his head. "Never mind," he said, standing up. "I'll go. I'm tired anyway, and I could do with going home and getting some sleep." He was feeling much too raw to be able to deal with Lindsey in whatever kind of mood he was in, too vulnerable and worried that if he didn't give Lindsey some space, the other boy would wind up hating him. He'd obviously already managed to do something to deserve the cold shoulder, and he didn't want to invite any more opportunity to screw up their friendship.

"Yeah, I'll just bet you're tired," Lindsey said, under his breath, but not so quiet that Wesley didn't hear him. "Up all night with your boyfriend?" Lindsey looked up at Wesley and spat out the contemptuous question, unable to keep it in, and mentally shook himself.

"I told you before," Wesley said, slowly, and trying not to look as guilty as he felt. "I don't have a boyfriend." Neither of them failed to notice that he didn't deny that he'd been up late.

"That's not what it looked like to me," Lindsey said, half snarling, half pouting. Wesley almost wanted to laugh, it looked so... cute. And funny. Almost, but he was still feeling so terrible and starting to get angry with Lindsey for acting the way he was.

He sighed and closed his eyes, realising that Lindsey must have seen him with connor the other night, behaving very much like they _were_ boyfriends. Again, he thought what an incredibly bad idea that had all been. Well, there was no point in lying about it, not that he thought he would have been able to anyway, not that he had any reason to, he reminded himself.

"Connor," he said.

"Yeah, _Connor_."

"God, Lindsey, listen to yourself," Wesley told him. "Why the hell do you care? First you're jealous of Spike, now Connor, who, for the record is _not_ my boyfriend, although we have been carrying on a physical relationship that came to a very disastrous end last night." He sat back down, some of the anger draining from him at the hurt he saw in Lindsey's eyes at his admission.

"You know that I'm... that I have feelings for you." Wesley was well aware that Lindsey was developing some feelings of his own, but he clearly wasn't willing to act on it yet, and it wasn't fair of him to get so jealous, so possessive, even if Wesley was not-so-secretly getting off on it. "And I appreciate the friendship we've established these past weeks, and I hope that it can... grow," he said, careful not to use any words that might freak Lindsey out before he was ready, and trying to gauge his reaction.

"But you can't expect me to pine after you, to want you and desire you alone, when there's no reason for me to think that it would ever pay off. For God's sake, you have a girlfriend!" He didn't say that Lindsey wasn't attracted to him, that Lindsey wasn't into guys, because they had both realised, a while ago, that that wasn't entirely true anymore.

"We broke up," Lindsey said, slight feeling of loss sort of tickling at his insides, even though they both knew it had been the right thing to do.

"What?" Wesley asked, shocked at that, to say the least.

Lindsey shrugged. "We broke up. We just weren't... attracted to each other like that anymore." He just knew his entire body was screaming out _because now I'm attracted to you_, but he was frozen to the spot, his eyes pleading with Wesley not to push this, not today.

"Oh." Wesley knew that his chance was staring him in the face at that moment, if he wanted it. He could lean forward, press his lips against Lindsey's, kiss him, touch him, and the other boy would let him. Let him do that and probably a great deal more. And probably regret it shortly after, or possibly during, because he was clearly still hurting over the break-up with Fred, and he was still unsure what exactly his feelings for Wesley would mean.

And Wesley was through using sex to make people feel like shit. There was plenty of time, he hoped, and he was sure now, absolutely positive, that Lindsey would come around, and Wesley would give him a bit of time, if that was what he needed.

"Oh!" he said again, but this time with a cheerful, knowing, half-leer, that made him look like an idiot, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Lindsey appreciated it. "This doesn't mean..." He snorted and trailed off, not even bothering to finish the lie.

"No, I wouldn't think so," Wesley agreed, still smiling.

"Like you said, we're... we... friendship."

"Yes, of course."

"I mean it."

"Whatever you say."

Lindsey couldn't keep his smile in after that and picked his game controller back up, then Wesley's, tossing it at him. "Shut the fuck up and let's play."

Fifteen minutes later most of the tension had gone from them both and even though things were far from normal, or perfect, they were alright, and both boys were doing their best make things easier. Lindsey had even let Wesley win the last round, and they were trying to decide what game to put in next, when they heard a high-pitched, over-friendly voice coming from the top of the stairs to the basement.

"Lindsey, how many times have I told you to rinse your dishes before you put them in the dishwasher..." he stepmother started as she came down the stairs. "Oh!" she exclaimed, when she saw Wesley sitting next to him. "You must be Lindsey's study buddy. Hello boys."

"Er... hi," Wesley stumbled over the words, not able to think of anything appropriately polite to say. Lindsey's stepmother was _young_. And _hot_. And she sort of looked familiar.

"Hey Missy," Lindsey started, and at her reproachful look cringed and shook his head. "I mean _mom_." Fuck, she was only three years older than he was, and he would be lying if he said he hadn't the odd sexual dream about her, on a fairly regular basis, and he had to call her _mom_? She was dumb as a post though, so that helped to keep his desire in check, and him out of therapy.

"Aren't you boys having a hard time studying without any books?" she asked, raising a stern eyebrow and looking around the room.

"Yeah, sorry," Lindsey said, getting up and switching off the video game system. "We were just taking a break. We'll get back to it."

She smiled in approval and Lindsey rolled his eyes when she looked toward Wesley. "What are you boys studying for?"

"History," Lindsey mumbled and Wesley reached into his book bag to grab his text, holding it up, proof.

"Mr Ryan?" she asked, brightly. They nodded. "Tell him _hi_," she said, smiling coyly and twirling a lock of her long blonde hair around her finger.

"Yeah," Lindsey mumbled, thinking there was no way he was doing that, and Wesley tried not to look down her very low-cut top. It normally wouldn't have been a problem, what with him not liking tits and all, but she _was_ very attractive, and the top was _very_ low-cut.

She smiled a vacant smile and waved. "Well, it was nice meeting you," she said to Wesley and went back upstairs, ass swaying deliberately behind her.

"You're stepmom's cute!" Wesley whispered, after the door at the top of the stairs had closed.

"Shut up Wes," Lindsey groused. He didn't need the reminder.

And then Wesley remembered how he knew her. "I thought she was Angel's stepmom," Wesley said,

"She was." Lindsey shook his head and Wesley barked out short burst of laughter.

And then he remembered where else he knew her from. "Remember when she was a senior and we were freshman?"

"Shut up, Wes."

"Say, didn't Tucker ask her to the prom?"

"Shut up Wes!"

***

When Wesley left Lindsey's house that night, the first thing he did was call Spike. He felt like a fourteen year old girl, and he knew Spike would call him one, but he was so ecstatic over the way his situation with Lindsey was developing that he just needed to gush about it.

Spike was at the Espresso Pump and had tried to tell Wes to fuck off, but he'd hung up his cell phone as soon as he found out where Spike was, leaving Spike warning a dial tone to leave him the hell alone, and drove there as quickly as he could.

"Spike!" Wesley called out and waved, seeing his familiar stark blond head seated at one of the tables, and it wasn't until he had walked over that he realised that Spike wasn't alone. Fred was with him, sitting across from him, and smiling, as Fred always smiled, but there was a sadness to it that Wesley couldn't ever remember seeing before, and he was pretty sure he knew the reason for it. And even though he was glad, he didn't like to see Fred looking like that.

"Oh, Fred, hi." He frowned slightly, not really having expected to see her there, but he shook it off and let himself relax into his natural state of feeling good whenever was around her. "I'm sorry. You know, about you and Lindsey." He was trying to be, anyway.

Spike rolled his eyes, completely unsurprised at Wesley's lack of tact. And not believing him for a second. He knew that Wes liked Fred, and knew that he'd be feeling bad for her if she felt bad, but there was no way in hell that Wesley would be sorry that her and Lindsey had split.

"Thanks," she told him, smiling sweetly. It figured, she thought, that Lindsey had told Wes about what happened. She hoped he told him more than just that, and hoped he hadn't, and really, didn't know what to think or feel, except glad that Spike was around. "I'm not exactly doin' back flips about it, but things haven't been right for a while. It was kinda time, you know?"

Wesley nodded, but couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Well, I guess I'll leave you guys to it," she said, assuming her time with Spike was over for the night, now that Wes had showed up wanting his best friend back.

"Wait, pet," Spike said when she stood, touching her arm with the tips of his fingers to stop her from taking off. "Let Wes give you a lift, yeah? Least he could do after crashing our tea party."

"Oh, yes, of course," Wesley agreed, shaking his head and apparently regaining a bit of politeness.

***

"So, what was so important that you had to break up my date?" Spike asked, after they'd dropped Fred off and were lounging on Wesley's bed.

"Date?!" Wesley squeaked. "You were on a date? With Fred? Really?"

"Well, not as such," Spike admitted in a low murmur. "You showed up and sort of ruined the mood, not that there was much of one. We were just hanging out, talking. Was trying to get a feel for over that idiot she is."

"And is she?"

Spike shrugged. "She loved him. You don't just get over that this fast. Even if you know splitting up is the right thing to do."

"So are you still planning to pursue her?" Wesley wondered.

Spike looked at him. "Yeah," he said, and pulled a face like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "She's incredible, that one. Not lettin' her get away. I'll just have to take things a bit slower, make sure she's ready."

Wesley thought that was a very good idea, and really hoped Spike didn't screw it up. Fred would be good for him.

"So?" Spike asked, a minute or so later, and kicked Wesley lightly in the foot.

"So what?" Wesley asked, blinking his eyes open and acting like he hadn't just been somewhere else.

"So why were you desperate for my company?"

Wesley sighed dreamily and smiled, relaxing back onto his pillow, and propping his feet up on Spike's lap. "I think I'm falling in love with him, Spike."

Spike looked at him, askance, and narrowed his eyes. "No, you mean you want to be his fuck toy. You can't actually love him, Wes. You hardly know him."

"I know him better than you think," Wesley said, not letting Spike's negativity get to him. "I know you think I don't, and I don't want to hear it again, because you're wrong. We have… something. Sure, some days have been... harder than others, but overall it's been... amazing. _He's_ amazing."

Spike sighed and shifted, elbowing Wesley out of the way to lie down next to him. He knew there was no sense arguing with Wesley when he sounded like that. It was the same way he sounded when he'd told Spike that he had asked Andrew out, and he'd turned out to be very in love with the little shit.

Maybe he was falling in love with Lindsey, but Spike hoped not. He still thought there was nothing but heartache in that for Wesley, and he didn't want his friend to have to go through that, but there was nothing he could do, unless he wanted to _really_ piss Wes off.

"What happened to when you were in love with me?" Spike asked, wistfully, remembering the days when he had been the object of Wesley's desire, and he'd known, even though he hadn't reciprocated, that he'd never have hurt him.

"I'll always love you," Wesley told him, shifting and turning his head to rest it on Spike's shoulder and look into his eyes. They were quiet for a moment, something close to an honest display of emotion passing between them before they both erupted in giggles and Spike playfully pushed Wesley away.

"But I do, you know," Wesley said, quiet and serious.

"Yeah yeah," Spike brushed him off and kicked him in the ankle. "Stupid jackass." Wesley knew he meant _I love you, too._

"I know you think I'm crazy Spike, but he likes me. I know he does. And it might take a little bit of time, but I'm going to get him."

"Yeah?" Spike asked. "How you gonna do that?"

"I'm going to seduce him."

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Two weeks had passed, and Wesley's plan to seduce Lindsey was coming along well, if slowly. He hadn't wanted to rush things, hadn't wanted to push, but the desire he had been feeling for months now was building, exponentially, each time they were together, and Wesley didn't think he'd be able to hold out much longer.

And luckily, he didn't think he'd have to.

They had both been a little nervous around each other at first, following Lindsey's revelation, but Wesley had done his best to be comforting, to keep things light, and the next time they saw each other, no mention whatsoever had been made about what had been said, implied, that last Thursday.

The time after, they'd sat just a bit closer to each other than they normally did while watching television, looks lasted a little longer, smiles had a little more meaning, and when Wesley left, he held Lindsey's face in one palm for a split second, and gently stroked his thumb over the other boy's cheekbone.

The time after that, they'd drunk their beers in the kitchen, and talked about inconsequential things, and Wesley made excuses to touch, as bottles exchanged hands, or one or the other of them stood, or just when he felt like it, an arm or leg brushing against the other boy's, once or twice letting his knuckles very purposely slide along Lindsey's as their hands sat otherwise idly on the table.

Wesley hadn't done anything overt, nothing to scare Lindsey off, hadn't even considered kissing him, thought he'd wanted to, so many times. He could feel Lindsey's acquiescence – no, more than that, his genuine desire – grow. He knew what Lindsey was ready for, what he wasn't, and he respected that, and Lindsey was responding to that respect, that space, to the point that Wesley was beginning to feel bolder.

That Thursday, after Wesley showed up at Lindsey's house, smiling warmly and standing just a little too close to Lindsey as he stripped his jacket and slipped out of his shoes, to be considered strictly 'friendly', but not nearly too close for either of their likings, Lindsey invited Wesley into the living room and slid a movie into the DVD player.

It didn't matter what they were watching, as neither of them was really paying attention to it anyway.

Wesley had been taking things a little bit too slowly for Lindsey, and the boy's proximity to him on the couch was incredibly disturbing in an incredibly good way. He wanted to touch him, reach his hand out, grab Wesley's leg, or hand or put his arm around his shoulders. Something. Wished he was brave enough to make that leap, but even though he had no delusions that he didn't want this, he just couldn't bring himself to make the first move.

It was pathetic.

Wesley nudged him ever so slightly with his elbow, and when Lindsey turned he smiled, and slid the smallest bit closer to him, knees just touching on the edge of the cushion, and they both sat still, tense, and turned back to the television.

Lindsey's heart was racing, fear and excitement pulsing through him as he fought simultaneous urges to grab Wesley and pull the smaller boy to him and probably crush the life out of him as he stuck his tongue down his throat, and run, as fast as he could and far as he could, from the temptation.

Was he ready for this? Really? For... whatever Wesley would do? He had to be, or risk coming across like a cock-teasing girl, and he held his breath for several seconds, wondering what Wesley was going to do next.

But Wesley surprised him, and he relaxed almost instantly, when all Wesley did was take his hand in his own, entwining their fingers and resting them on Lindsey's knee. He sighed in a combination of relief and frustration, and Wesley looked up him, briefly, and the smile Wesley offered was so falsely innocent that he must have known exactly how Lindsey felt, and was playing with him, teasing him.

Lindsey resisted the urge to smack him, because really, his face was too pretty to mark up like that, and when Wesley leaned his head against Lindsey's shoulder he did put his arm around Wesley, and tilted his head so that it was resting on top of Wesley's head, as they pretended to watch the movie.

Okay, this was good. Lindsey could do this. But fuck, he wanted to do more.

***

Over the past couple of weeks, Connor and Wesley had been doing their best not to avoid each other. When they passed each other in the halls they would mumble a greeting, but quickly turn away. When they ate lunch together with their friends they would be sure to sit on opposite sides of the table, and never speak directly to each other, but they made a conscious effort to always show up, to not make excuses so they didn't have to spend time together.

Wesley had gone to see _Hellmouth_ play at some club in Los Angeles last week, and he and Connor had managed not to really look at each other for the entire two hour car ride, each way, while they were stuck in the back seat together, but they had made a point of exchanging forced goodbyes when they dropped Connor off at home afterward.

Connor had had a party at his house on the weekend, and Wesley hadn't wanted to go, but Spike told him that it would be alright and the two of them had to get over this thing at some point, since they were all still going to be hanging out together. Actually, his exact words had been, "Get your head out of your arse and go to the fucking party. He's not going anywhere, so you might as well try to pretend that you haven't completely fucked him over, yeah?"

And so Wesley had gone, and had actually had fun, but had been certain not to have anything to drink, and not to be alone with Connor at any time. They didn't even speak that night.

And all that time, Connor had still been under his spell. Even though Wesley was studiously avoiding looking directly at Connor for very long at a stretch, or at all if he could help it, he couldn't help but notice that Connor had been letting his gaze drift, at lunch, in the car, at the party, any time they had seen each other, staring at Wesley with a sort of dreamy longing. Wesley was caught between wanting to apologise, yet again, for everything, and wanting to smack Connor, repeatedly, until he got the hell over it.

Both of those options were probably bad ideas, so instead he did nothing.

Connor had been looking at Wesley, when he didn't think anyone else would see, knowing that it was hopeless, but unable to help himself. He had to let go, he understood that, but it was a hell of a lot harder when it was him, than it had looked when some of his friends had gone through it.

He loved Wesley. Really loved him, and yes, it was a selfish, immature kind of love that was prone to tantrums and scheming, but it wasn't fickle. He still wanted Wesley to be his boyfriend. More than almost anything. But if that wasn't possible, then at the very least, he wanted to be his friend. And that sure as hell wasn't going to happen if they couldn't even talk to each other.

He figured Wesley was probably still feeling guilty, and he should, the fucking asshole, for using him, for making a fool of him, for not loving him, and until he could forgive Wesley, until Wesley could forgive himself, and until Connor could tell him that he'd moved on, and the whole thing was behind them, they would probably continue not speaking to each other. And Connor didn't want that.

So he decided to lie.

***

It was five minutes before classes let out for lunch on Monday, and Connor wanted to make sure he caught Wesley before they were surrounded by their friends, so he snuck out of class early and waited by Wesley's locker. He could talk to him for a few minutes, try to smooth some things over, and then walk away pretending he was incredibly cool and well adjusted. And then run to the cafeteria and wait for Wesley to show up at their usual table.

He saw Wesley round the corner and was a little surprised to see him before the bell rang, but he pushed himself up from where he was leaning against the wall, and started walking to meet him. They got to Wesley's locker at about the same time, probably because Connor had been walking exceptionally slowly, and he tried not to look down when Wesley noticed him, looking at him curiously.

"Hey," he said, attempting a smile and trying to stay relaxed.

"Connor," Wesley answered. "What are you... I mean, hi. What's up?" He had been about to ask Connor why he was there, but that would have been rude, considering they had almost been friends at one point, and it wasn't as if they both didn't want to get back there.

"I just wanted... I..." He knew he should have practiced this. He had no idea what he actually wanted to say, just that he wanted things to be alright.

Wesley opened his locker and put his books away, but he turned immediately back to Connor, concerned. "Is there something wrong?" Connor had always been a little awkward, but he'd come out of his shell so very much with Wesley over the past months. It wasn't like him to stumble over his words like this, not with him, not usually.

"No," Connor answered, and managed a real smile. "No, I just... I forgive you."

Wesley's eyebrows knit and he opened his mouth, as if to ask what it was that Connor forgave him for, but snapped his face back into a more suitable expression half a second later when he remembered that there were a great many things that he'd done wrong.

"You apologised to me," Connor clarified, and then huffed out a small laugh. "Several times, actually. And yeah, you did some shitty things, but I practically begged you for half of them."

Wesley thought it would be in poor taste to point out that Connor did indeed beg, and had also helped himself a number of times, without asking what Wesley thought about it. He just nodded.

"It... hurt," Connor continued. "You hurt me, and I hurt myself, and I know you feel bad about it, and you should, but... I forgive you."

Wesley eyed him speculatively for a moment before letting out a long breath. "Thank you Connor," he finally said. "I do feel bad. Actually, 'bad' doesn't quite do justice to how I feel about it, but it means a lot that you're willing to forgive me."

The lunch bell sounded, but they both ignored it.

Connor shrugged. "It's alright. I've had some time to get over it, and I just wanted you to know. And I think we can be okay, be, you know, friends. If you want." But it wasn't alright and he hadn't gotten over it. He would, he thought, probably, in time. But he was still angry, at himself and Wesley, and he was still in love and his heart was still broken.

"I'd like that very much, Connor," Wesley told him, and smiled as brightly as he could manage. He certainly didn't think that everything was fixed now, but this had been a huge start, and it was definitely something to build upon. Perhaps they could take things slowly. He started to move his hand, stopped, felt like an idiot and moved it again, toward Connor, and gave his arm an awkward, if meaningful, squeeze, before letting his own fall.

"Well, I'd better..." Conner started to make his excuse to leave, but trailed off when he saw several students heading down the hallway toward them, including Lindsey, who was staring very intently at him.

Lindsey had left his economics class and headed for his locker to drop his stuff off. He was hoping to catch Wesley there, maybe talk for a minute, indulge in that warm smile and those arresting eyes, give himself something to get through the rest of the day, but his quick pace slowed, and contended expression turned hard when he got close enough to see that Wesley was already at his locker, and speaking very closely with Connor.

He was pretty sure Wesley had told them that they were over, and they didn't appear to be doing anything apart from talking, but their body language and facial expressions implied that they were talking about something serious, intimate.

He tamped down his irrational jealousy and anger and pasted on his happy face, picking up his pace again and walking over to them.

"Hey Wes," he said, overtly low and intimate, and winked at him before opening up his locker.

"Lindsey, hello," Wesley answered, and couldn't help the goofy grin form lighting up his face.

Lindsey took a step to stand beside him and smiled back, then looked at Connor, smile transitioning from genuine to noticeably forced. "Hey... ummm..."

"Connor," the boy ground out through clenched teeth. He knew that Lindsey knew his name, that he was just being an asshole, but he didn't want to look stupid in front of Wesley by making a big deal out of it.

"Right, Connor," Lindsey said, nodding, like he should have remembered that. Arms free of his books, he let the fingers of his right hand drift until they were brushing against Wesley's, and when he felt the other boy jerk slightly in surprise, he slipped his hand into Wes's and held on.

"Didn't mean to interrupt," he said, but his face was turned so that he was speaking into Wesley's shoulder, breath drifting across and onto his neck, and the words came out gentle and seductive.

Wesley remained still, letting Lindsey do what he wanted, nearly ecstatic that he wanted to hold his hand in public, but also slightly freaked out because he really shouldn't be rubbing Connor's nose in this. And that fact that he knew that was the only reason Lindsey was behaving like this at the moment sort of took some of the pleasure out.

God, he'd been so close to making things right with the boy, and this was certain to put them back in that department.

Wesley and Lindsey both noticed Connor's jaw twitch and his eyes turn to steel before he said, "Yes you did."

Lindsey looked triumphant, but Wesley immediately dropped his hand and shot him a brief but intense scowl before turning back to Connor. "Connor..."

"No, I was leaving anyway," he said, as if he was accusing Wesley of something, and probably was, and took off down the hall. Well, there went his cool exit.

"So," Lindsey said after Connor had left them. "Wanna have lunch?"

Wesley turned to face him, looking at him as if he'd grown a second head, and completely ignored the invitation. "What the hell was that?" he spat.

"What?" Lindsey asked, playing innocent. He knew exactly what he'd just done. Wesley was his. Or would be, anyway, and Wesley's ex needed to understand that. "Didn't you want him to know?"

"Didn't I..." Wesley started, flabbergasted. "Know _what_, Lindsey?! There's nothing _to_ know. You and I aren't..." He saw Lindsey face fall for the briefest of moments before he was able to cover it up and felt horrible. Of course they were. They hadn't actually expressed their relationship in physical terms yet, but that didn't mean they didn't have one.

He sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry. Of course we are," he said, and looked hopefully at Lindsey. "It's just... You don't know..." _You don't know what I did to him, how badly I treated him, how I used him._ "It's not right to rub his nose in it like that. I suspect he still... cares for me, and the last thing I want to do is hurt him any more than I already have."

Lindsey nodded. "Sorry. I only meant..."

"I know exactly what you meant," Wesley said, cutting him off with a knowing look that quickly turned into one of delight that Lindsey had actually felt the need to mark his territory.

"Lunch?" Lindsey suggested again, and Wesley laughed, grabbing the brown paper sac from his locker.

***

Lunch was mostly filled with idle chit-chat and comfortable laughter, and it felt very much like every other time they had spent time together, only this time, the entire school could see them. There was nothing to see, for the most part, just two friends, eating and talking, but the signs were there, for people who knew what to look for.

Spike noticed their knees bump under the table more often than would probably be appropriate for two people who were in a platonic relationship, and for the first time, he thought that Wesley might have been right about Lindsey all along. He might actually owe his friend an apology. Not that he'd get it.

Oz noticed the way they smiled a little too much, and leant a little too close every once in a while, and he smiled to himself, and gave in to the urge to call Doyle and say 'hey'.

Angel noticed the way they were sharing their food, much too familiar in his opinion, and frowned. He'd only been kidding when he suggest that Lindsey should tap Wes's ass, really, but what the hell did he care if he did it or not. As long as Lindsey was happy. And hey, if Lindsey wasn't batting for the home team anymore, it just meant for chicks for himself. If Buffy wasn't in the picture.

Fred noticed the way that Wesley's hand covered Lindsey's on the table when she saw them and came over to say hello, the way his thumb seemed to rub not quite two circles over Lindsey's finger before he looked pointedly at their hands and then back at Fred to make sure she'd seen, before yanking his hand back as though it had been burned when he realised what he'd just done.

Lindsey noticed that too, and supposed it was fair.

Wesley noticed the way that neither Lindsey nor Fred seemed bothered by it, and felt foolish for doing it in the first place. He knew that Lindsey and Fred had cared deeply for each other, still did, but he oddly didn't consider her a threat. Probably because he liked her a great deal, and very much hoped they could all remain friends.

He realised, for the first time, probably because he hadn't actually given it any serious thought before, that he would have been happy to keep things between he and Lindsey a secret, would have been happy to do anything if it meant he could be with him, but he was glad that he didn't have to.

Connor noticed everything, and tried desperately to be okay with it as he stared at them over his untouched lunch.

***

That night Lindsey came over to Wesley's house to 'study'. Lindsey's father was entertaining a client and he wanted him out of the house, and Wesley had been more than happy to have Lindsey over. It was the first time he'd been there, and now that their relationship was progressing, it seemed long overdue. And besides, his father was out of town, and Spike said he'd be gone most of the night, so that would give them plenty of time to be alone.

And after how well Lindsey had been responding to his tentative advances lately, and after his little stunt with Connor at lunch time, Wesley was fairly certain that Lindsey would be alright with taking full advantage of that time.

"Beer?" Wesley asked, stepping from the kitchen into the living room and offering one of the bottles.

Lindsey had been sitting on the black leather couch by the window and stood to accept it. He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow as the bottle exchanged hands. "From your daddy's fridge? I'm impressed, Wes." Wesley, though he had indulged in the occasional drink at Lindsey's place, wasn't the kind of person that Lindsey thought would steal booze from his father. Especially on a Monday night.

A mild flush crept across Wesley face and he let his eyes dart down to the floor before he looked at Lindsey and smiled. "No, from Spike's fridge, downstairs. Sorry. I'm afraid I'm yet to impress you." Spike wouldn't miss a couple of bottles. In fact, Wesley may well have paid for the case that he took them from, but his father would most definitely notice, and most definitely not be pleased.

Lindsey made a face after he'd taken a swallow, the knowledge that he was drinking Spike's beer making it taste a whole lot worse than it usually did. But then his eyes turned soft when it sunk in what Wesley had said, and he just barely managed not to tell Wesley that he impressed him in a shitload of other ways. 'Cause that would just be gay.

"Uh... so..." Lindsey said, after he'd taken another drink, and looked around nervously. He wasn't stupid. The two of them, alone in a house, for hours, after the past several months and particularly the past several hours, and he knew what he was expected to do. The question was, could he do it? Could he really let Wesley... Fuck, he wanted to, but, it was new, and scary, and it was probably going to hurt.

Wesley stepped closer and put a hand on Lindsey's shoulder, letting his thumb trace out a commanding pattern along Lindsey's collar bone and neck. "I understand that you're nervous," he said, in a reassuring manner, and stepped even closer. "But you're going to have to get over that. And I think that tonight is as good a time as any."

Lindsey, with one part of himself, thought that tonight was a long time past the good time, but when Wesley's hand slid around to the back of his neck, and pulled him closer, looking into his eyes with so much intensity that Lindsey was sure that look alone was more meaningful than any other sexual or romantic encounter in his life, Lindsey became unsure.

He was glad that he didn't have to dwell on that feeling for long though, before Wesley pressed on and covered Lindsey's lips with his, commanding and sure and forceful, and really not like anything Lindsey had been expecting at all. And God damn, was it a turn-on.

He responded before he even knew what he was doing, lips parting, mouth opening, to let Wesley's tongue inside, soft and warm and pushing it's way through, and _Oh, God_, Lindsey had never gotten so hard so fast and it was all he could do not to tear his pants off and spread his legs, offering himself to Wesley. And that was after just a kiss. Who the hell knew what he'd be willing to give up after Wesley really got started.

Wesley closed his eyes and moaned, hand gripping tighter around Lindsey's neck lest he try to escape. He knew that wasn't likely, but this was his wet dream come true, finally, and he wasn't taking any chances.

He brought to mind everything he had ever liked about Lindsey, most of those things on the superficial level, before Lindsey had said two words to him, and all those feelings of lust, all those feelings of not being good enough for Lindsey, pooled together and pushed Wesley on, making him demand of Lindsey what he'd been denied: need, desire, respect, admiration, acceptance.

And feeling all that made him more forceful than he was prone to be, demanding of Lindsey that he give him what he want, through his touch, his kiss, the push of his hips against Lindsey's quivering ones, and most importantly that look of calculated hopeful longing in his eyes after he pulled back, and licked his lips and batted his eyelashes.

"I'm sorry," Wesley started, eyes cast to Lindsey's feet, even though he had to fight to keep them from meeting the other boy's eyes, from crinkling and glowing and shouting out his imminent victory. "Perhaps that was out of line?"

"What?" Lindsey blurted, and fumblingly stepped forward to fill the space that Wesley's step backward had left. "No! I mean... It was okay."

"I'm very glad about that," Wesley smiled. "And by 'okay' I hope you mean 'toe-curlingly phenomenal', because by the end of the night I plan to have you singing my praises to a much heartier tune that that."

Lindsey swallowed, audibly, but couldn't deny that he wanted that too, but it had only been ten minutes since he'd walked in the door, and this was all moving a little fast. Even for him.

Wesley noticed. He would have to have been a special kind of stupid not to, but he was incredibly empathetic toward Lindsey, so it wasn't even close to a surprise. "Why don't we just... Sit for a while," Wesley suggested, and gave a warm grin as he took one of Lindsey's hands in his own and sat them both down on the couch, slightly frustrated but sure that he'd soon be getting what he wanted, what they both wanted.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Half an hour later they were each working on their second beer, listening to the radio and sitting side by side on the couch, Lindsey's right knee hooked over Wesley's left leg as Wesley trailed his fingers along the inside of Lindsey's thigh.

With each pass Wesley's hand seemed to creep a little higher, and Lindsey's body would go a bit more rigid for the barest of seconds before he relaxed and sighed and almost pushed into the touch. _Fuck_ it was infuriating! He appreciated Wesley taking his time, because honestly, this was a huge step for him, even if had been months in the making, but if Wesley didn't move things along, and fast, he was going to go crazy.

He supposed he could take over, take charge and speed things along, and it wasn't as if he didn't know what he was doing, for the first bit at least. He'd fooled around with girls enough times, and this couldn't really be all that different, and besides, his instincts were telling him, in pretty graphic detail, just what he should be doing, and sitting back like some shy little virgin and letting Wesley take the lead sure as hell wasn't it.

Still, this was all just new enough and he was _just_ scared enough of getting something wrong, so he decided to relax, and go with what Wesley was doing.

Eventually Wesley's fingers brushed high enough that they ghosted over the bulge in Lindsey's jeans, and his dick, hard since the earlier kiss, jumped at the touch. "Fuck," he breathed out, the soft sound barely making past his lips, and closed his eyes, opening his legs a little bit wider.

Wesley took that for the invitation it was intended as, and added it bit more pressure, palming Lindsey's erection, solidly, through his pants and squeezing and kneading the long column with his fingers. Good Lord, he was actually touching Lindsey's cock! Alright, so there was a thin Layer of denim and a thin layer of cotton separating him from his ultimate goal, but he would soon take care of that.

He put his bottle down on the end table nearest him, and leaned in closer to Lindsey, tilting the other boy's head up and bringing him in for another kiss. This one was slower, sweeter and more drawn-out than the previous one, meant as a gentle exploration and a request to go further, not designed to shock and claim.

Lindsey moaned into the kiss, arms wrapping loosely around Wesley, and using only a small fraction of their strength to urge Wesley even closer. Wesley went, gladly, and when his chest was covering Lindsey's, when his tongue was tracing an intimate path along Lindsey's front teeth, when Lindsey's hands were grasping and pulling at the back of his shirt, he unfastened Lindsey's pants.

Lindsey froze. Not for long, but he was sure Wesley had noticed, and he felt like an idiot. He knew he wanted this, but he just couldn't stop himself from acting so skittish about the whole thing, and it probably wasn't making Wesley feel very good about it. He forced himself to relax and get back into it, deepening the kiss and the second Wesley's hand touched the hard flesh of his cock, pulling it out of his pants and tracing his fingers across the head, smearing the natural wetness around, Lindsey threw his head back against the couch, hard, and cried out in pleasure.

Wesley was thankful for Lindsey's reaction, not that he'd have been able to stop if it had been less exuberant, but it excited him, increased his confidence, that Lindsey McDonald, the boy he'd been lusting after since the start of the school year was so pliant and willing to do whatever Wesley wanted, and he was apparently having an incredible time.

He wrapped his fingers around Lindsey and pumped, slowly, thumb swirling around the tip at the top of every stroke, and he watched the other boy's face, eyelashes fluttering and lips slightly parted, heard his hitched, random breathing and the little sighs of ecstasy whenever Wesley did something particularly enjoyable, and Wesley was almost sure that he could have done this, been here, in this moment, forever, and have been quite content.

His own dick was hard and aching and he desperately wanted to touch it, wanted Lindsey to touch it, wanted to take one of Lindsey's hands and place it in his own lap, demanding that Lindsey return his actions, but he could wait. He was happy enough with what they were doing at the moment, and really the point of all this was to loosen Lindsey up enough so that they'd both be even happier with more, but that would all be wasted if Wesley pushed too hard.

A few minutes of incredible touching later, Lindsey could feel himself getting closer to the end. He wasn't sure what to do, if he should finish like this, if he wanted to, if Wesley wanted him to, if he was supposed to reciprocate or what, but it turned out he didn't have to bother making that decision.

Wesley stopped touching him before it became a problem, probably sensing that he was close, and Lindsey was glad. He was enjoying himself, and the fact that it seemed he didn't have to make even the simplest of decisions for himself tonight helped him to enjoy it a lot more. There was something oddly liberating about putting all that responsibility on someone else, and just letting things happen.

Wesley smiled at Lindsey's sigh of relief and stood, kissing Lindsey briefly on the lips before he did, and began to strip. It wasn't as if he was wearing very much, so it didn't take long, and he didn't make a grand show of it, but Lindsey was none-the-less mesmerised.

Wesley took his t-shirt off, and Lindsey noticed, for the first time, that Wesley had a hell of a body. It wasn't as muscled at Lindsey's was, or as tanned, but it was lean and fit, not scrawny like Lindsey had guessed, and the long groups of muscles moved under his skin, sensually, beautifully, as he performed the normally mundane task of undressing.

His legs turned out to be just as impressive as his upper body, and knowing that he wasn't particularly athletic, at least when it came to class sports, Lindsey decided that be probably ran to keep fit. And then Wesley looked at him, eyes staring into his own unflinchingly, and he raised a playful eyebrow and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers.

"You showed me yours," he said, smiling and shrugging, and Wesley's final piece of clothing was pulled down and kicked away.

"Right," Lindsey croaked out, almost choking over the words his brain was nearly too drained of blood to supply. "It's only fair."

He knew he was staring, and on some level knew it was rude to stare, but he didn't think Wesley minded too much, and besides, he just couldn't help himself. It wasn't as if he'd never seen a dick before. He had his own, and he'd seen them in the locker room, and it had never been a big deal. He'd seen hard ones, too, though not in person, but he was a teenage boy and indulged in the odd porn video every so often, but none of them had ever been so... _right there_.

And he'd sure as hell never wanted to reach out and touch them, wanted to slip forward, onto his knees and lick his way up the shaft, and take the head in his mouth, tasting them. No, that was an entirely new desire, and he would have done it, if he hadn't already decided that he was letting Wesley make all the decisions tonight. He'd just sit there, and drool like a moron until Wesley told him what to do.

Wesley smiled, to himself this time, because Lindsey wouldn't have noticed anyway, so riveted on parts of Wesley that weren't his face, was he. Oh yes. This was going exactly as Wesley had hoped, and he was sure now, completely certain, that he could get Lindsey to do anything for him at that moment, and the knowledge was heady, but Wesley was determined not to abuse that power. Much.

No, he wouldn't force anything that Lindsey might be uncomfortable with afterward, but he did plan for them to have sex, because he knew that Lindsey had wanted that even before now, and for them to have some fun with it.

"Get up," Wesley said, and like some sort of robot, programmed to respond to Wesley's voice, Lindsey immediately stood, arms at his sides, and wishing that he'd bothered to retain a little bit of his own free will. Fuck it was only Wes, only a dick, hard and eager and so very tempting. Yeah, _only_.

"Very good," Wesley congratulated, with a friendly, mocking smile.

"Shut up," Lindsey mumbled, seeming to get back a little bit of higher brain function, and managing, through extreme force of will, to look up into Wesley's face.

"I think you're over-dressed, Lindsey," Wesley commented, voice much more casual than he felt, and let his hand wander down to pump his own erect cock a few times.

Lindsey's eyes were quickly drawn back down, and it was all he could do not to move forward and help Wesley out. He was about to, really he was, but Wesley saved him the trouble, yet again, by stepping forward himself, grabbing two handfuls of Lindsey's flannel over-shirt and sliding it down his arms and off, covering his lips in soft kisses as he did.

Lindsey's t-shirt went the same way, and then Wesley's hands were on his chest, skin touching skin and gliding over it, across his stomach and shoulders, back and arms, and the kiss continued throughout, Lindsey's hands doing some exploring of their own, and bare erections pushing against each other in a jerky non-rhythm, until Wesley pulled back, panting.

"Oh, God, Lindsey," Wesley managed between heavy breaths. "You're... amazing. I always knew," he stopped to kiss him, hand at the back of his neck, "that you would be," another kiss, and he rested his forehead against Lindsey's, each of them looking down at their bare cocks, sliding against one another's, "but I confess, my imagination pales in comparison."

"Wes..." Lindsey moaned and pushed his hips forward, an unspoken plea for Wesley to do something about his pants, and a good deal of the tension drained from him as he sighed and leant most of his weight against Wesley, when his already unfastened pants were slid down.

He fumbled out of them, the motion necessary to rid himself of the troublesome clothing only serving to create a greater friction of his dick against Wesley's, and he found himself mindlessly thrusting forward, chasing the release that he hadn't achieved with Wesley's hand on him, but again, Wesley stepped back.

It was fucking amazing. And Wesley was tempted to finish just as they were, arms wrapped around each other, naked and thrusting, slippery cocks moving over each other, driving them both over the edge, and on a rational level he knew they had plenty of time for other things, but his 17 year old sex drive wanted to get to all of them, or most of them, tonight.

"Fuck, Wes, don't stop," Lindsey panted, trying to pull him closer again. "So fucking great..." And it was, but Lindsey wished he had a more eloquent way of expressing it. Three months ago, he never would have thought that he'd be attracted to another guy, to have intense sexual feelings, and get off on this kind of thing, and he'd sure as hell never expected that guy to be Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, but now that he felt this way, now that it was happening, it just felt so incredibly right, and Lindsey wondered why he'd never thought to do with sooner.

It was bizarre how his feelings for Wesley had changed. Until they'd started hanging out, until Lindsey had heard about Wesley's crush on him, he hadn't given the other boy a second thought, or really a first one, but now... Now that he knew him better, now that they'd spent time together, now that Lindsey had experience the way Wesley made him smile, pissed him off, amused him, turned him on, the way everything came alive when Wesley was around, or when he thought of him, Lindsey didn't know how he'd ever gotten along without him.

He hoped he wouldn't have to, for a long time.

"I'm not stopping, Lindsey," Wesley told him, and smiled a seductive smile.

"Good, cause I'd have to kill you," Lindsey answered, and Wesley laughed, but Lindsey didn't know why, because he was completely serious. He frowned then, and yanked on Wesley's hand, wanting him to resume their recent positions, but Wesley didn't budge. "Wes, what the hell?"

"I was thinking," Wesley said, and brought Lindsey's hand to his mouth, kissing each finger individually before bringing it back down, and letting it fall from his own, "Would you like me to suck your dick, Lindsey?"

"Shit!" Lindsey shouted, hips jerking again into the air and fists balling at his sides. Did Wesley not know how much shit like that turned him on? And it had been a while since anyone had done that for him, almost six months, and he'd spent one or two or a dozen jerk-off's over the past several weeks imagining how pretty Wesley would look doing that to him, and yes. Yes he really wanted that.

"Yes," his mouth agreed with the rest of him. "Yes, do it."

Wesley touched Lindsey's face, fingers lightly pressing against his cheek, his jaw, and Lindsey opened his eyes to look into Wesley's mischievous ones. "Ask me nicely," Wesley demanded, hand dropping to his side, and looked at Lindsey, awaiting an answer.

"You little shit," Lindsey growled, and this time he didn't bother fighting the urge, or even thinking about it, and closed the distance between him and Wesley, kissing him, rough and almost angry, but with so much lust and affection. "Don't fucking tease me."

_Oh, that's rich_, Wesley thought. _If it were up to me I'd have been giving you blow jobs since the first time I was at your house._ But he only shook his head slightly, eyes not losing their smile and said, "That's not nearly nice enough."

It was odd for Lindsey, new, to have to ask someone for head. All the girls he'd been with, not that there had been as many as he liked to pretend, had just wanted to, except for Fred, who he knew didn't, and he hadn't wanted to force her, and he _knew_ Wesley wanted to as well. This was only a game, designed for a little bit of fun, and even though it made him feel vulnerable, which he supposed was the point, Lindsey swallowed his pride, and begged.

"Please Wes," he said, putting a little bit extra into it, for show. "Please. Suck... suck my dick." Shit, just saying that affected him more that he thought it would and his voice let out a little squeak at the end, and his erection twitched against Wesley's.

"Yes," Wesley answered, hips moving in the smallest of jerks against Lindsey's. "Yes, that's it. Tell me what you want." He hadn't realised how much he'd missed this, being with another person, feeling someone's touch, hearing their voice, and he thought briefly of Andrew before he blinked those memories away and concentrated again on the here and now. On Lindsey's ragged drawl, telling him exactly what he wanted Wesley to do to him.

"I want you to suck me," Lindsey blurted, half tempted to just push Wesley down and force his way inside his mouth, and not have to bother with all this stupid conversation. But he had to admit that he liked it. It was painting a very pretty picture in his head, getting both of them incredibly excited about what was coming, and he knew Wesley thought, and sort of agreed, that that was half the fun. Or at least a part of it,

"Yes..." Wesley agreed, with another thrust of his hips.

"I want you to get down on the floor, take my dick in your hand and open your mouth wide. I want you to take me in as far as you can in one go, swallow me down, rub my balls in your hand and suck so hard it makes you gag. And I want you to touch yourself while you do it. Oh, fuck, Wesley _please_!"

Wesley gracefully sank to his knees in front of Lindsey, and smiling up at him, let his hands slowly travel up Lindsey's legs, from his feet to his hips, and taking his hard-on into both his hands, said, "your wish is my command," and proceeded to do exactly what Lindsey had requested.

The second that Wesley's mouth closed over him and throat muscles contracted around his dick, Lindsey knew that those rumours he's heard about Wesley giving the best blow jobs in school were not exaggerated.

_Holy shit_! It was quite possibly the best thing he'd ever felt and he was pretty sure he swore a blue streak and grabbed Wesley's head in his hands and pumped his hips forward to match the tempo Wesley had set up, but he couldn't be sure, because just about everything after Wesley opened his mouth was one giant blur.

He came. Loud and long and mumbling vaguely of how incredible Wesley was. There was no way in hell he would have been able to stop himself, and he could only guess that Wesley had wanted him to, or he knew he wouldn't have been given the chance.

It was so pleasurable, so powerful, that it drained most of his energy and he was no longer able to support his own weight, and he smiled an embarrassed smile when Wesley caught him, and settled him onto the ground, tucked against Wesley, as kisses rained over his head and face.

"Are you alright, darling?" Wesley asked, voice a mixture of laughter and concern.

"I... yeah," Lindsey answered. He was slightly dizzy, and a bit worn out, and Wesley had never used a pet name with him before, and he wasn't entirely sure if he was a 'darling', and just about anyone else would have gotten hit for it, but coming from Wesley, he decided he like it. "Yeah, I'm more than alright."

"I'm very glad to hear that," Wesley whispered, and Lindsey could still hear the humour in his voice. "Because I'm not nearly finished with you, yet."

Lindsey tried his best to sit up straight, suddenly feeling terrible. "Oh, shit, Wes, I'm sorry," he said, reaching out for whatever part of Wesley was nearest. He ended up with a hand on Wesley's knee and followed the leg up toward Wesley's crotch.

"For what?" Wesley frowned, and place a hand over Lindsey's stopping its movement.

"Because I didn't..." Lindsey shook his head and gestured dumbly. "You haven't..."

"Oh, that," Wesley smiled and released Lindsey's hand, though it remained where it was. "We'll take care of that, have no fear. I just wanted to do a little something for you to take the edge off before the main event."

"Uh," Lindsey swallowed and looked up at Wesley, completely unaware that his finger nails were digging into Wesley's thigh. "I uh..." He thought about it for only a few seconds, but ultimately there had never been a choice to make. He knew he wanted to, and he knew that it was up to Wesley anyway. "Yeah," he smiled, kissed Wesley, and noticed that his dick was starting to fill again. That was almost a record for him. Damn, he was impressed with himself!

Wesley felt Lindsey's erection renew when it pulsed and jerked and brushed against his hand, and he smiled back, taking Lindsey's hands and helping him stand up. "On the couch," he ordered, words a caress in Lindsey's ear, and a wave of gooseflesh covered Lindsey's body as he obeyed. Damn, he was really going to have to look into this submissive streak. He thought he would have realised it by now, considering he'd dated Darla.

"I'll be right back," Wesley said, excusing himself, and darted into the kitchen, returning with a small foil packet and tube of something, and Lindsey could only assume that it was a condom and lubricant. And why the hell Wesley kept those things in the kitchen, Lindsey really didn't want to know.

This was it. Lindsey was going to have sex with a guy. And what really surprised him, was the fact that he wasn't nervous anymore. Not even a little. Any jumpiness that he'd been experiencing earlier was gone, replaced by nothing but longing, need, caring and trust, and he was completely certain that this was the right thing to do.

He still wasn't sure what was expected of him, but he leaned back and spread his legs, making the invitation clear and Wesley quickly moved forward, standing between Lindsey's legs and again dropping to his knees.

The sight was almost too much for him, and he wanted the chance to play a little more before they got down to it, try to drive Lindsey just as crazy as he was, or he was going to finish so much sooner than the other boy, it would be embarrassing.

He put his supplies down on the floor and bent forward, licking around Lindsey's renewed erection, tasting the tangy saltiness and wishing that he could keep that taste on his tongue when they were apart, so that no matter where he was, he could always be back here.

Before long Lindsey started to move again, hips pushing forward to drive himself deeper inside Wesley, but that wasn't what this was, so Wesley pulled of Lindsey's dick with a wet slurp and smiled at the soft curse that came from his lover's lips. He took Lindsey's thighs in his hands and pushed them apart, lifted them slightly and tilted them back, so that Lindsey's hips came off the couch cushion and his hole was exposed to Wesley.

Lindsey held his breath, but didn't tense up, and he prepared himself for Wesley's fingers, because that's how this worked, right? The fingers went in first to stretch you out? What he was not prepared for was the warm wetness of Wesley's mouth covering him, soft lips puckering around his entrance as Wesley sucked and licked and pushed his tongue inside.

"Fuck!" he called out, and bore down instinctively, hands grasping at whatever was in their reach, Wesley's hair and the buttery leather of the couch arm. Okay, _that_ was new, and for the life of him, he couldn't imagine why he'd never tried it before.

"Soon," Wesley agreed, backing off slightly and grinning madly before returning to his task.

Lindsey couldn't wait. This was amazing. More than amazing, but if Wesley's lips and tongue felt this good, his dick was sure to feel even better. He spared a moment to think that he was a little disappointed that he hadn't gotten to touch it, to taste it, but there would be plenty of time for that later, and right now there was only one thing he wanted.

"Wesley," he said on a gravely moan, pushing at the Brit's shoulders to move him back. "I can't... can't take any more. I need..."

"Whatever you need Lindsey," Wesley told him, "I'll give to you." He licked two of his fingers and reached them forward, trailing them across Lindsey's perineum before sliding one, then the other inside him, and gently moving them around.

"Shit! God, Wes, you're killing me!" Forget about Wesley's tongue, this was the best thing he could imagine. It was tight, a little uncomfortable when he thought too much about it, but intensely pleasurable, especially when Wesley's fingers brushed across _something_ inside him that sent sparks that were almost too much, through his entire body.

"I wouldn't want that, Lindsey," Wesley said, surprised that he was able to retain any semblance of rational thought considering how turned on he was himself. "I've grown to quite like you."

"Then stop being suck a cock-tease and fucking do it!" Lindsey growled.

Wesley laughed and pulled his hand back, and with one last kiss to the tip of Lindsey's erection, grabbed his things from the floor and stood. "You are an impatient little bugger, aren't you?"

"Wes, I'm fucking serious," Lindsey warned. "If you don't do this, soon, I'm gonna shoot all over myself, and then you'll be stuck with your hand and the gay porn under your bed."

Wesley flushed, even though Lindsey couldn't possibly have known about those magazines, but the guess was an accurate one. "Oh, that will never do," Wesley said, and leant forward to grab Lindsey by the shoulder. "Lie down," he instructed as an aside, and he pushed Lindsey back, so that his head was on the armrest and he was flat on his back.

"Not when I've got such wonderful live entertainment." He climbed on the couch between Lindsey's legs and took his dick in hand, giving it a few final pumps. "I'm sorry, Lindsey," he said, seriously, and stopped all movement. "It's just that I've been dreaming about this for so long, and... Never mind. We'll get on with it, shall we?"

Lindsey grabbed one of Wesley's arms and looked up at him earnestly. He hadn't really given much thought to the fact that Wesley had wanted this for as long as he had, and now that he considered it, he really hoped he was good enough, lived up to the expectation. It was a lot of pressure, and he suddenly felt a little nervous again, but shook it off.

"It's okay," he said. "I want you, Wes. I want you to do this, probably more than _you_ want to, so just relax, alright?" It hadn't ever occurred to him that Wesley would be nervous too. Funny, that.

Wesley quickly unwrapped the condom, choking back a sappy reply, and slid it down over Lindsey's hardness.

"What are you...?" Lindsey started, and shook his head.

"Errr..." Wesley said, looking at him as if he were a little slow. "Using protection?" He hadn't bothered with Connor, any of the times they were together, and knew he should have, but Connor had never had a sexual encounter before Wesley, and Wes hadn't been with anyone since Andrew, and he knew he was clean, but it was still a smart and considerate thing to do. Too bad he hadn't been considering anything but his dick when he'd been fucking Connor.

"No," Lindsey scowled and waved his hand. "Dumbass. I meant... I thought you were gonna..."

"You thought..." Wesley prompted, matching Lindsey's frown, and when Lindsey made a few more gestures and looked as if he were about to kill Wesley if he didn't get it, Wesley got it. "Oh... Oh! Well, I thought that you'd... I mean... I could... if you'd rather..."

"No," Lindsey said, a little too quickly. A large part of him wanted to answer 'yes', but there would be other chances for that. Truthfully he felt a little relieved. This was clearly what Wesley wanted, and Lindsey's only job was to comply. Not that it was a burden... "No, this is good."

Wesley smiled and manoeuvred Lindsey's legs so they were straight on the couch before climbing over them, one of his own legs bent and tucked into the back of the sofa, the other stretched out and resting on the floor. "Good."

He bent down to kiss Lindsey again, both of them putting a great deal of passion into it, wanting to reassure themselves and each other that they wanted this, but when Wesley sat up and unscrewed the cap on the tube that Lindsey recognised as KY, Lindsey wasn't sure what he was supposed to do.

Sit back and take it, he could handle that, but to be the one doing... shit, he'd never fucked someone in the ass before, though he figured it would probably be about the same as fucking a pussy, but he didn't want to go too fast, hurt Wes, do something he wasn't supposed to that he didn't even know about.

"Wait," he said, and at the strain in his voice Wesley stopped what he was doing and looked down at Lindsey. "What do I... I mean is there anything..." fuck he felt like an idiot. "Fuck, I feel like an idiot. I've never, you know, done this... with a guy."

"Yes," Wesley said, smiling that same half-infuriating, half-comforting smile. "Had I not suspected that solely based on your reputation, your adorable uncertainty throughout most of the night, not to mention the past weeks, would have been a dead give-away."

Lindsey snorted. "You think you're so slick, eh?" he asked, but couldn't keep the humour from sneaking onto his face. And then he became serious once again, brows drawn in concentration. "But you have... right?"

Wesley's expression gave away nothing, but he answered, short and tight, "yes." He was over Andrew, mostly, but it was still a sore spot, not to mention how lousy he still felt about Connor...

That should have made Lindsey feel better, and in a way it did, because at least one of them knew what they were doing, but he couldn't help but think of Connor, and wonder just exactly what Wesley had gotten up to with him. Wesley had admitted that their relationship had only been physical, and that painted all sorts of pictures in Lindsey's mind of just how physical it had been, but thinking of things like that wasn't accomplishing anything besides wilting his previously impressive erection.

Wesley grinned again, squeezing some lubricant onto his fingers, and he reached back and worked them inside himself, slicking the way and doing a bit of preliminary stretching. It was far from the first time he'd taken it, he and Andrew had done this quite a number of times, though not as many times as the other way around, and it wasn't long before he was ready.

"You don't need to worry about anything, my darling," Wesley told him, leaning down to kiss him, deep and fast before sitting back up. "Just relax, and let me take care of it."

He raised himself up and took Lindsey in hand, then looking into Lindsey's lust-filled eyes, slowly lowered himself onto Lindsey's waiting dick. They both gasped and groaned and tried to take it slowly, to relax and enjoy the sensations, and Lindsey's hands held very tight to Wesley's hips, feeling like if he let go, if he tried to move, tried to breathe, that he'd end up hammering into Wesley so hard and fast that it would be over before it started.

It was phenomenal. All he'd hoped for and more, and he didn't bother wishing that it had been the other way around, because damn, this was just as good, probably better, and his dick had never felt such a sense of belonging as it did at that moment, inside Wesley.

And yeah, fine, he was probably romanticising it all, but he was a teenager and he was getting laid, and that's what he was supposed to do.

Wesley was glad he took the time to get Lindsey interested again before he took him inside, because as soon as he was fully seated, the feel of Lindsey inside him, the slight unintentional rub of Lindsey's cock head over his prostate, the sight of the other boy, underneath him, face contorted in pleasure and muscles tensed with the strain of holding back, were more than working for him.

He was close, and he suspected Lindsey was too, and he just felt so damned good that he didn't want to bother dragging this out. He started to move, setting up and easy rhythm, designed to bring them both to the brink very quickly, and he wanted Lindsey to move, too.

"You can participate, you know," he told him, grinding himself down, and they both cried out. "Really, from this point on, it's just like fucking a girl," _not that I'd know, but I've been told,_ "And I'm sure you've had your share of those, so you should be well versed." Wesley's face was kind, not accusing as he said that, intending to relax Lindsey into moving however he liked, but it had the opposite effect.

Lindsey stopped moving altogether, and held Wesley's hips still in his overpowering arms. "I'm not... I'm not a slut, Wes."

Wesley closed his eyes and sighed, then regrouped and opened them again. "No, that's not what I meant. I only... I know you've been with girls, and I was trying to make you more comfortable."

"Girl," Lindsey corrected.

"Excuse me?"

"Girl. I've only been with one girl, like this."

"I'm sorry," Wesley said, and ran his thumb along Lindsey's eyebrow before kissing his forehead. "I didn't mean to imply... well... anything. I just know you've dated quite a bit, and I thought… Never mind. I shouldn't have assumed."

"I just don't want you to think I go sticking my dick in anything and everything. I cared about Darla. I cared about Fred, and if she'd let me, I would have. And I care about you."

Emotion welled up in Wesley and he had to fight to stop the tears from falling, and he started moving again, kissing Lindsey, slow and deep and pushing them both towards a substantial climax.

Lindsey felt overly exposed, and wished he hadn't confessed that much to Wesley, but he didn't think the other boy would use that information against him. If there was anyone he could confide in, trust, he knew without a doubt that it was Wesley.

He hadn't realised how much he really cared for him until he'd said it, until Wesley looked at him with those soulful, adoring eyes, and rode himself on Lindsey, lips covering his, teeth taking small nips out of his jaw and neck and breath drifting over his ear. But he knew now, and fucking Christ, he was going to make sure he hung on to him.

Wesley sat up and grabbed Lindsey's hand, placing it on his straining cock and encouraging him to pump, and Lindsey did what he was encouraged to do, very enthusiastically. He gripped tight and began to pump, like he would his own, like he was in some of race to the finish, and Wesley tried to slow him down but only succeeded in crying out and pushing himself down harder against Lindsey's upward thrusting hips.

The feeling of Wesley in his hand was something to savour, and he tried to, but it was eclipsed by the feeling of Wesley around him, and he did his best to remain sane as Wesley bounced on him faster and faster and he squeezed Wesley's dick harder, and they headed toward a mutual end.

It wasn't long, and they were both vaguely ashamed of that, but feeling too good to care, that Lindsey arched his back and cried out, some sort of combination of "Wesley" and "God" and "Fuck" and "Amazing" leaving his lips that neither of them could remember afterward, and it was only seconds after that that Wesley joined him, telling Lindsey, he was pretty sure, that he was the best lay Wesley had ever had, and he was pretty sure it was the truth.

Wesley raised himself up enough to pull off Lindsey, and then collapsed down on top of him, face nuzzling into his neck to place a series of kisses there as their mostly boneless bodies recuperated.

"Fuck," Lindsey said, eyes closed and body more relaxed than he could ever remember. "That was... Damn, Wes, please tell me you're done, cause I don't think I can handle any more."

Wesley chuckled and sunk his teeth into Lindsey's collar bone hard enough to leave a mark, grinning when the other boy twitched back and yelped. "For tonight, yes. You're off the hook. I'm spent."

"Good," Lindsey said, moving his hands over Wesley's back. "I want to be able to save up my energy for next time." He smiled and eventually his hands stilled and they were both quiet. "It really was... great," he said, wanting to be able to express to Wesley exactly what he'd felt. This had been a really big deal for him, and he wanted to share it, not only so that Wesley knew he'd liked it, but for himself, too.

"Lindsey..." Wesley said, raising his head to look into Lindsey's eyes. He somehow managed to read just about everything that Lindsey wanted to say, and couldn't think of anything to say in return, except for something that might not be entirely welcome, so he just smiled, and said, "thank you."

Another few minutes passed and they drifted comfortably in each other's arms, and finally Wesley looked at the clock to see that it was almost eleven. "It's getting late," he said. "Don't you have to get going?" But he knew the tone of his voice was pleading with Lindsey not to.

Lindsey heard it and was glad and hugged Wesley tighter to him. "Nah," he said, and stripped off the condom, tying a knot in the end and dropping it in the waste bin next to the couch. They'd probably need to deal with that before Wes's dad came home. "They probably won't notice if I'm home or not, and I don't want to leave here yet." _Ever_.

Wesley sighed a contended sigh and let himself rest fully on top of Lindsey, one leg against the back of the couch, the other between Lindsey's legs and placed his head in the crook of Lindsey's neck. "Mmmmm," was Wesley's reply, and despite their best efforts to remain conscious, they both drifted off, dozing comfortably in each other's arms.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Fred smiled and slipped her hand into Spike's as they stepped out of the warm cinema into the cool night air. Spike was mildly startled, hadn't really known what to expect, but they _were_ on a date, and his date wanting to hold his hand shouldn't have come as a shock.

By this point in any other 'relationship', Spike would have been doing a lot more than that, and pressing for even more, and he wanted to with Fred as well, but the problem was he liked her. He wasn't used to that, and he didn't quite know how to handle it. After two years of being friends, two months of flirting, and two dates since her and Lindsey had split up, he found he was hesitant to try anything physical, for fear of scaring her off.

Besides, he knew that she hadn't put out for Lindsey, or anybody else, so he was pretty sure all he had to look forward to was rejection in that department, but oddly, he didn't mind. He just wanted to spend time with her, get to know her better, buy her dinner and watch her study, hold her in his arms, kiss her, touch her... tear all her clothes off and have brilliant sex with her right there on the cold, empty sidewalk...

Okay, so this whole having respect and taking things slowly thing might not be his cup of tea, but Fred was worth it. He'd wanted to be with her for quite a while now, and he didn't think that it was _only_ because he wanted to get her into bed.

He squeezed her hand once in his and looked down at her, smiling, and began to walk them down the road to the Espresso Pump. He would be just as happy looking at her across a bistro table and listening to her tell him all about what happened in chemistry class that day as he would if he could take her home. Almost.

Fred smiled back up at Spike and when he looked away she rolled her eyes. What the hell did she have to do to get this guy to make a move? God, she'd been willing to let him kiss her while she was still with Lindsey, and after she thought about it she was glad that he hadn't. It wouldn't have been right, but it only made her like him more, knowing that he was that considerate. At least where she was concerned.

She'd called him, not Cordy or Willow or any of her other friends when she'd broken up with Lindsey, wanting to tell him, talk to him about it, let him know that she was gonna be okay with it, and very much on the market again, and hoped that he'd take the hint.

But he'd waited more than two weeks before he'd called her, and she was beginning to think that he wasn't going to. When he finally _had_ asked her out he was oddly polite about the request, not his usual cocky self, and she found that strange, but sweet, and happily agreed to go with him.

And she'd spent dinner and then the movie making eyes at him, making excuses to touch him, coming up with reasons to tell him how good looking he was, and how glad she was that they were out together, but either she was incredibly bad a flirting, or Spike was incredibly thick about things like that. It was frustrating as hell!

Spike... did things to her. She loved the way he looked, the way he acted, the way he spoke, and when she thought about him, all she could think of was how amazing his lips would feel against hers and how wonderful his fingertips would feel on her skin, how fantastic he'd look with his shirt off, how tight his ass would be if she could see him without his pants, how completely content and sated and fulfilled she'd be if he were to be the first one to make love to her.

She got a little sad, still, when those thoughts made her remember that she'd felt that same way about Lindsey once, but she thought she must always have known that something wasn't right.

It was a little crazy, she was aware. She wasn't even officially dating Spike, and she'd been with other boys for much longer than this and she'd never let any of them get very far, but for some reason, when she thought of Spike, it just seemed... right.

And yes, she knew he had always been a bit of a player, but he'd never made a secret of that, so if he was only with her for one reason, he would have made that clear. The problem was, she wanted that to be at least _part_ of the reason, and it seemed like Spike sort of didn't.

"You, know," she said in her most coy tone of voice, tugging on Spike's arm to stop him from moving. "I don't really feel like coffee just now."

"Oh," he said, frowning. He didn't want to walk her home just yet, but if that's what she wanted, he supposed he didn't have much choice. "Alright. That's fine. School tomorrow anyway, so we want an early night, right?"

She laughed and stepped in front of him, reaching up to place a kiss on his lips. It wasn't reserved, wasn't shy or hesitant, but it didn't deepen either, Spike too unsure about everything, and Fred suddenly afraid of being rejected. "It's only 8:30. I was thinking we could maybe go to your place for a while." She looked down at her shoes and shuffled her feet in the most adorable way. "You know, spend some quiet time together before I have to be home?"

She looked so sweet, so hopeful, and his lips were still tingling from their very first kiss, and he knew at that moment that he would never be able to deny her anything. He smiled broadly and wrapped his arms around her, bringing her close.

"Anything you want, pet," he told her before he kissed her, her actions and request making him bold. He still wasn't under the impression that he'd get much further than this, but some time alone with Fred, some kissing and snuggling and talking... Shit, Wesley was really starting to rub off him, and not in the fun way, if he thought that sounded like a good idea.

Fred melted against him, his strong arms holding up her small frame and she opened her mouth under his, small sound of beautiful surrender escaping her as his tongue delved inside, sweeping across hers briefly, before retreating. She wanted him to keep going, wanted more, but he gently urged her lips shut with his, finishing the kiss with a gentle nip on her bottom lip.

He pulled back and released her, puffing out a short breath of air and offering her a slightly apologetic smile, though she didn't know what he would be apologising for. "I've been waiting a long time to do that, Fred," he told her, taking her hand again and walking them in the direction of his house.

"I've been waiting a long time for you to do it!" she agreed. "I thought maybe..." she started, shy again, and looked away for a second. "That night, after the Bronze..."

He huffed out a laugh and shook his head. "Wanted to. But it wouldn't have been right."

"Since when do you care about _right_?" she asked, somewhat disbelieving. "I know all about your reputation, mister."

He raised their joined hands and brought them to his mouth, kissing the back of her hand, long and sweet, before lowering them again. "Since you," he said, simply.

She _just_ managed not to jump up and down and scream like a love-sick schoolgirl, but she couldn't prevent the huge smile from spreading across her entire face, completely blowing her attempt to play it cool.

***

When they got back to Spike's house he took them in his own private back entrance, knowing Wesley and Lindsey were there tonight, and really not needing to see either of them at the moment. Talk about a mood killer.

The next hour for Spike was a blur, but a blur he'd never forget.

He put on some music, offered Fred a drink, and sometime between laughing about the movie they'd just seen, and arguing over whether or not Spike got to keep Fred's underwear as a souvenir, they ended up naked and rolling around on Spike's bed.

When he would think back on it, he would like to pretend that he was suave, captivating and incredibly seductive, but he knew that he probably wasn't. He was very capable of that sort of behaviour, but where Fred was concerned it seemed he was hopelessly stuck with being dorky and nervous and a little bit of a fool.

She kissed him first, he remembered, out on the street and again in the basement, and when she'd climbed into his lap on the skinny wooden chair in his make-shift kitchen area, and wrapped her arms around him, lips mercilessly teasing over his face and neck and shoulder, and whispering to him that she could just tell they would be amazing and she'd never felt like this before, he picked her up and carried her to the bed.

Clothes were removed, seemingly of their own volition and probably with the aid of some sort of magic, because neither really recalled exactly how it had happened, and didn't think they stopped kissing for as long as it would take to strip shirts up over heads, or shimmy pants down.

And there was kissing, they remembered. Lots of kissing. And fingers dancing across excited flesh, pinching nipples and parting folds and grabbing sinfully wonderful handfuls of each other (and Fred learned she was right about that ass of his), and finally, again, probably through a miracle of some sort, because God must have been on Spike's side in this, there was a condom, and Spike was wearing it, and he was pushing into her.

He was careful, he made sure of that. Made sure to go slowly and watch her face for any signs of discomfort, but was relieved to see none as she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him in closer, encouraging him to move.

And he did. It was... perfect. For both of them. Fred couldn't have expected her first time to be any better, with anyone more attuned to her needs, who put her first and wanted nothing other than her to be happy, and Spike, though he'd done this a hundred times, had never had a sexual encounter that meant so much to him, on an emotional level.

That wasn't to say that the physical wasn't phenomenal, and though they would both romanticise it later on, it had been beyond what either was expecting, both working toward their quick end, madly, with a shared passion that only increased the more they moved against each other, the more they talked of want and need and completeness, and they would both have liked to say that it lasted hours, days, but in reality it couldn't have been more than ten minutes, if they were going by the glowing green numbers on the microwave, but all they cared about was how they felt.

Fred ignored the tiny little part of her that used to think that Lindsey would be her first and hugged Spike closer.

"It's getting late," she said, shortly after 11:00, with her lips pressed to Spike's ribs. They hadn't bothered to move in over half an hour, much too comfortable, too sated, snuggled up on Spike's cot together. But Fred's curfew was eleven, and she was already late, and if she ever wanted to be allowed to see Spike again, it was probably a good idea for her to get home.

"Mmmm," Spike agreed, half asleep with one hand tangled in her hair, his spent cock resting snugly against her thigh. "Then quit talking and go to sleep. 'M exhausted."

She giggled and kissed him on the nose before disentangling herself from him and the sheets and sitting up, looking through the scattered pile of clothing for any that belonged to her. "I was supposed to be home ten minutes ago, Spike. My momma's gonna kill me if I don't get back soon."

"We can't have..." he paused and grunted as he rolled onto something that poked sharply into his ass cheek, then reached under him to pull out Fred's bra by the underwire and dangle it in front her. "...That," he smiled. "I'm kinda partial to you all living and breathing and... wriggling around," he finished with a leer as his eyes raked across her naked body.

"Oh, you!" she scolded with a grin and snatched her bra from him, taking the time to smack his arm with it before putting it on.

"Fine," Spike sighed, quite dramatically. "No more fun for me tonight. Let's get dressed, I'll give you a lift home."

It was before 11:30 when they got to Fred's house, and she'd been later than that before, once or twice, so she figured she'd just tell her parents they were too late for the earlier show and had to stick around later than expected to see the late one. And since she already had that excuse worked out, she could probably wait another few minutes or so before going inside.

Which was good, because Spike was currently kissing her, long and slow and skimming his hands over every part of her body he could reach and it was so incredible, so amazing, it felt like a dream. The whole night felt like a dream, and she didn't want it to end, but eventually Spike brought the kiss to a close with a couple of lingering pecks and then pulled back, releasing her.

"Fred..." he started and cleared his throat, trying to buy himself some time and work up some nerve. This was stupid. Spike was never nervous, but then again, he had never been through the experience of asking a girl for a _second_ date. Not one he'd just shagged, anyway.

"I had a good time tonight," he said. _Yeah, good_ he thought, sarcastically. _Start with an enormous understatement._ "I mean, I like you." Okay, that was better. Honest at least. "And tonight was... more than I ever expected, _you're_ more than I ever expected, and I was hoping that... Would you like to go out with me again?"

Fred burst into laughter, clamping her hand over her mouth to stop the sound from carrying, and trying her very hardest to calm down when she saw the hurt on Spike's face. She wasn't laughing at the idea of going out with him, just he had been so cute, and shy and she'd _never_ seen him like that, and it was sort of nice that she could bring it out in him, and really, the idea that she _wouldn't_ go out with him again was sort of funny.

"Sorry," she mumbled into her hand, and when she had stopped smiling she moved her hand to rub it over Spike's deliciously sexy bed head, and kissed him. "Of course I will. You're not gettin' rid of me that easily."

Spike let out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding and smiled back at her, watching as she got out of the car.

"Oh, Spike?" she said, turning around when she was half way out. "I had a really good time, too."

***

Spike had never been happier about anything that had to do with a girl before in his life. He'd gone out with Fred, shagged her, and she'd agreed to do it again, and he was pretty damn sure that he was on the fast track to having a girlfriend. Okay, fine, so he already thought of her as one, and she probably did too, but he wasn't all that pathetic, and he would wait at least a few more dates before he officially asked her.

He was ecstatic, filled with too much excited energy to go back to his room and sleep, so after he parked his car back in his driveway, he decided to go and wake Wesley up, tell him all about what happened. He was curious about his friend's night, too. He knew Lindsey was coming around, and if Wesley was lucky he might even have gotten a bit of a feel.

He entered the house through the side door into the kitchen, and stopped by the fridge to grab a bottle of water, then shrugged and grabbed another one to give to Wesley. He wanted to have something to throw at him. He walked through the living room, intending to go up to Wesley's bedroom, and open the door without bothering to knock, but he got three steps into the room and stopped, staring dumbfounded at the couch.

And the cuddling and sleeping and _naked_ Wesley and Lindsey that were on top of it.

He could have gone the rest of his life, happily, without seeing Lindsey's package, all droopy and floppy and just lying there, staring at him. But seeing as how he hadn't been able to avoid it, and he didn't think he'd actually burned any holes in his retinas, it was looking like a grand opportunity to piss him off, and make fun of him.

"Oh look," Spike said, loudly enough to wake the sleeping boys as he plopped down into one of the reclining chairs across from the couch and opened up one of the water bottles. "A party!"

"Spike?" Wesley asked, blinking awake and seeing Spike in front of him, then, remembering that he was currently nude and half draped over a nude Lindsey, he closed his eyes and hoped that when he opened them Spike would be gone. It wasn't as if he was embarrassed, or had anything to hide, but he knew Lindsey would be uncomfortable.

"What the..." Lindsey started, eyes snapping open and heart nearly beating out of his chest as the situation sank in. The first thing he did was try to roll over so that he was facing Wesley a little, hiding his dick from Spike's view.

Wesley stopped him from moving, as that probably wouldn't help anything, and quickly sat up, pulling the throw blanket up from the foot of the couch and handing it to Lindsey, so that he could cover what he wanted. "It's fine," he reassured, and touched Lindsey's face briefly.

Lindsey scrambled to cover up both himself and Wesley as best he could, scowling at Spike all the while. Didn't the fuckin' idiot have his own room or something?

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about modesty," Spike said, taking a drink. "I already got a _real_ good look while you two were sleeping it off, and I gotta say, I'm not all that impressed." He looked at Wesley then, smiling a shit-eating smile. "You could do better."

"Hey, fuck you!" Lindsey shouted, moving to get up, but Wesley's hand on his chest stopped him.

"Lindsey, please," he said, knowing that this probably wasn't the best time for Spike and Lindsey to get into an argument. Not that the two of them didn't think that any time was a great time for that.

"And Spike?" he said, looking at the annoyingly happy looking blond. "Go away."

"Are you kidding?" Spike asked, raising his eyebrow, and feeling a tad disappointed that he didn't have any popcorn. "This is better than cable! So, who got to top?"

"Spike," Wesley warned, and Lindsey made a vague growling sound.

"Well, people are gonna want to know, and I wouldn't want to give anybody any false information." His face was the picture of innocence.

"Don't you fucking dare!" Wesley said, sitting up and slipping on his boxers. He knew Lindsey wasn't trying to hide what they had, but he was also pretty sure he didn't want it circulating around school that they'd had sex tonight. "If you tell one single person, Spike..."

"No," Lindsey said, quietly. "It's cool. People are gonna find out. It ain't like I'm ashamed of you."

Wesley looked at Lindsey and swallowed back some distinctly girly feelings at that, and Lindsey didn't know him well enough to know what that statement would mean to him, but Spike did, and Spike saw it. Of all the things they'd said and done to each other that night, that was the one thing that Wesley would remember for the rest of his life.

"Sorry," Spike mumbled, and Wesley quickly turned to look at him again. "You know I wouldn't." Especially not now that he could see how much they really seemed to care for each other. Fuck.

"Wow," Lindsey said, impressed, and a little surprised that Spike seemed so contrite, so genuinely concerned that he'd upset Wesley. He knew, on some level, that there must be more to him than asshole, or Wesley wouldn't be his friend, but to actually see it... He looked at Wesley and smiled. "Spike's like, totally your bitch."

Wesley chuckled.

"Hey, I heard that!" Spike said, frowning.

"Yeah, I wasn't exactly whisperin'," Lindsey said, rolling his eyes.

"You little fucker," Spike said. "I wasn't kidding when I said Wes could do better, and I wasn't just talking about your itty bitty penis."

"Oh, you're just askin' for it," Lindsey snarled, and sat up straight, starting to stand, but again, Wesley stopped him, hand around his arm, and pulled him back down, with the throw pooled in his lap.

"Oh, yeah, you're real macho," Spike said, voice dripping sarcasm. "Maybe those threats would be more... threatening, if you didn't have cum dripping from your ass."

Lindsey tried to remember that Spike was only trying to piss him off, to bait him, and that having sex with another guy, giving or taking, had no effect on how macho he was. Still... "I'm not the one who..." He snapped his mouth shut, wanting to hit himself for saying too much.

"Oh," Spike smiled. "So Wesley was the one getting buggered."

"That's none of your fucking business!" Lindsey snapped and started at Spike, because he was afraid to look Wesley in the eye after what he'd said. It had been the truth, but he'd only said it so that Spike wouldn't think he'd rolled over. He'd been willing to, and he had to wonder what he would have said if it had gone that way. Would he have thrown that information around so easily?

Spike shrugged. "He'd have told me anyway." He grinned when Lindsey shot a questioning look at Wesley, who gave sort of an apologetic grimace. "And he'll still tell me. In detail. Much more detail than I'm comfortable with, actually, but after we talk, I'll know more about your skills, or lack of skills, in the bedroom, than you do."

That wasn't strictly true, but the look on Lindsey's face was funny. Spike and Wesley talked about everything, sex included, and Wesley would have definitely told Spike what had happened, just like Spike wanted to tell Wes about Fred, but it wouldn't be nearly as detailed as he led on.

"Spike?" Wesley asked, fighting the urge to pummel him, and hoping Lindsey would as well. "Go away?"

Spike pouted. "But don't you want to hear about my night?"

"Not really," Wesley ground out, eyes darting quickly to Lindsey before moving back to Spike. He knew Spike had been out with Fred, and even though Lindsey really seemed to be okay with that relationship being over, he would have to be made of stone for it not to hurt, listening to how his ex-girlfriend was going out with another guy.

"What?" Lindsey asked, noticing some of the tension, and wondering what he was missing.

"See, your pookie-bear wants to hear about it," Spike smiled smugly.

"It's nothing," Wesley said to Lindsey, smiling and grabbing his hand with a gentle squeeze. "Spike just had a date tonight, surprise surprise, and he wants to bore us with the details."

"Oh, It won't be boring, I promise," Spike countered.

"Spike..."

"What?" Lindsey asked again, getting more aggravated the move he felt he was kept out of the loop.

Spike smirked and Wesley sighed and gave Lindsey's hand one more squeeze before he let go, and looked at him. "Right, it's not... He sort of went out with Fred." Wesley inwardly cringed and waited for Lindsey's reply.

"What?!" Lindsey asked again, feeling stupider each time he said the same thing. But... Fred? With Spike? No, no, that must be some sort of mistake. He must be hearing things, because _his_ Fred had much better taste than that.

But... she wasn't his Fred anymore. And it still felt weird, but it also felt right. He'd moved on, so it only made sense that she would too. But with _Spike_? What the hell was wrong with her?

"Yeah," Spike agreed, grinning and sliding down in his chair. "I took Fred out. I meant to make sure you were alright with it first... No, wait, I didn't really care. Tosser." He snorted and took another drink of his water.

"You and Fred..." Lindsey said, evenly, feeling completely blindsided, and unable to repress the tiny flare of jealousy, though he tried.

"Yeah, mate," Spike said. "Never expected someone so quite and sweet to be so… much," he said, voice soft, and felt a dopey smile breaking out on his face. "I could barely keep up."

"What?!" Okay, that was it. Lindsey wasn't going to say that word ever again. "Fuck off. There's no way she..." There wasn't. No way Fred would have had sex with Spike, after the first date, when she hadn't had sex with Lindsey after four months, and hadn't been with anyone before that. No.

Spike shrugged and grinned, and didn't say anything.

"No, you didn't."

"Lindsey," Wesley said, moving closer and putting his arm around his new lover. "Spike is being a complete arse about this, and I understand if it hurts, but..."

"No," Lindsey shook his head and turned to kiss Wesley, quick and chaste, wanting to reassure him as best he could. "No, well, kinda, but not really." He gave Wesley's thigh a hard squeeze. "It's not as if I want her anymore, not… it's just..." He trailed off and shook his head, then looked at Spike, still somewhat disbelieving.

"Fuck off. She really let you...? I'd been with her for _months_, and she never...." Oh, God, Lindsey couldn't believe that Fred would actually have sex with this jackass!

"Oh, she more than _let_ me..." Spike started, smiling and happy and on the verge of elaborating.

"Enough," Wesley said, quietly, but quite seriously, and both Spike and Lindsey sat purposefully still, and did, in fact, shut up.

"Sorry," mumbled Spike, not meeting Wesley's eyes and feeling a little like a scolded child.

"Yeah, sorry," Lindsey agreed, and Wesley offered him an apologetic smile. He hadn't really been talking to Lindsey. "This idiot's not worth gettin' all worked up over."

"You little..."

"I said enough," Wesley reminded them. "I'm well aware the two of you don't much care for each other, but you're more alike than either of you would care to admit. And I'd appreciate if you could at least try to act civil."

"Fine."

"Whatever."

"Idiot."

"Freak."

Wesley rolled his eyes and stood, hiding his grin. They'd be getting along before too long, he knew. Hell, in their own fucked up way, this _was_ getting along, but he didn't want to risk anyone's wrath by telling them that he found their bickering sweet.

"If the two of you could manage not to actually kill each other for two minutes, I need to use the restroom," he said, and without waiting for an answer, headed off down the hall.

Lindsey and Spike sat in silence for all of about three seconds, until Lindsey started rummaging around the blanket and couch cushions and floor, collecting his discarded clothing. "Do you mind?" He asked Spike, screwing up his face.

"Not at all," Spike smiled, and remained stubbornly where he was.

"I'm not getting dressed in front of you," Lindsey insisted. He knew Spike had already seen anything that he wanted to keep to himself, but he was feeling exposed enough that night, and he wanted to have at least the appearance of dignity.

"What, you're afraid I won't be able to control myself, and end up shaggin' you through the floor?" Spike asked, and Lindsey just continued to stare at him and wait. "Oh, fine. Girl," he said, and turned around in his chair so that he was facing the wall, giving Lindsey the privacy to dress.

He stood and threw his clothing on as quickly as he could, then balled up the blanket and threw it at Spike's head, feeling smugly satisfied when the other boy let out an undignified 'oomph', and rocked the side a little.

Spike dropped the blanket to the ground and turned around, and when he did his face was devoid of all humour, and he looked straight into Lindsey's eyes. "Lindsey, if you're just using him, to... I don't know, experiment, or get something out of your system, or whatever... Fuck, that boy worships the ground you walk on, poor little moron, and if you hurt him, at all, I'm gonna hurt you."

Lindsey wanted to tell Spike to fuck right off, that he wasn't using Wesley for anything and had no intention of hurting him, ever, and even if he did, he sure as hell didn't have to answer to Spike about anything. But he knew that Spike was completely serious, that he cared about Wesley one hell of a lot, and he would do whatever he could to protect his friend.

And as much as he didn't want to, he respected that about Spike, sort of understood it.

"I know you're not into him. Not like that," Lindsey said, equally seriously. "But I'm also not retarded. I know he had a thing for you, and I know you get off on him being your little sidekick, following you around and thinking you're hot shit or something. But…" Lindsey paused, shrugging and smirking just a little.

"He wants me now. And I know you're jealous that you don't come first anymore. Not to mention the fact that your girlfriend loved _me_ first, and she'd still be with me if I wasn't a homo. So I'm gonna cut you some slack for being such an asshole to me, and not kick your ass."

"Like you could, pretty boy," Spike interrupted, angry about both digs Lindsey had got in. He could have pointed out that Lindsey's current had loved _him_ first, and Lindsey's ex seemed pretty happy with _him_ now, but he kept his mouth shut.

"I know what you're like, Spike. How you treat girls. And if you even think about treating Fred like the rest of your little groupies, you're gonna be sorry."

Spike scowled and opened his mouth to spew out some sort of nasty comment, a natural instinct to someone threatening him, but then changed his mind and grinned, wide and honest, surprising them both. "Wouldn't dream of it," he finally answered. "Fred's... special." And he was pretty sure that Lindsey had no intentions of playing Wes for a fool.

Lindsey smiled too then, shaking his head, and copied Spike's sentiment. "That she is. And so's Wesley."

Spike nodded, and suddenly decided that he'd had enough chat for the time being. They'd reached as much of an understanding as they were ever likely too, and it was probably a good time to shut the hell up. Wesley would be proud. "Right, I'm off to bed," he said, standing and walking to the staircase leading up.

"Wait," Lindsey said. "Isn't your room _down_stairs?"

"Yeah," Spike answered, like Lindsey was bringing up completely irrelevant information.

"So why are you going _up_stairs?" Seriously, what the hell was wrong with Spike? He must do it on purpose.

"That's where Wesley's room is," Spike explained, but by the look on Lindsey's face that hadn't cleared anything up. "Sleepover?" he offered, and his tone of voice implied that it had been completely obvious from the start.

Lindsey took a few steps in Spike's direction. "Wait, you're going to sleep in Wesley's room. With Wesley. Together." That didn't make any sense.

"Give the boy a prize," Spike said, rolling his eyes.

"Fuck that!"

"Fuck what?" Wesley asked, coming back from the washroom and grabbing his t-shirt off the floor, slipping it over his head.

"_You_ weren't planning on staying the night, were you?" Spike asked Lindsey, ignoring Wesley.

"Well, no, but..." Lindsey frowned and shook his head.

"But..."

"But that doesn't mean _you_ get to sleep with my boyfriend instead, jackass!" Lindsey blurted, and then mentally kicked himself. He just could not seem to stop himself from acting like an idiot in front of Wesley. And he'd just called him his boyfriend. Shit. Maybe they hadn't noticed.

"Wait," Wesley interrupted, stepping between them. "_Who_ exactly is sleeping with me?"

"Spike, apparently," Lindsey grumbled, looking petulant, but extremely adorable, Wesley couldn't help but notice. _Boyfriend_.

"Spike?" Wesley asked, raising an eyebrow very impressively.

"What?" he asked, acting innocent in the most unconvincing way he could. "It's not like we never do, and I didn't think you'd want to start out your new relationship by lying."

Wesley sighed and closed his eyes briefly. "Go away," he told him for the third time that night, and finally Spike listened.

"Fine. I'll be waiting up," he offered with his classic eyebrow waggle, and Wesley shook his head as Spike bounded up the stairs.

"I'm sorry, Lindsey," Wesley told him when they were alone again. "For... well, just about everything Spike said tonight. He's only trying to get under your skin."

"Yeah, and it's workin'," Lindsey said, and then snorted. "You two never actually...." he trailed off and waved his hands around.

"Oh, dear God, no," Wesley hastened to assure him. "No. Never. Though we do have entirely platonic sleepovers on occasion. I'm aware it's rather hokey, but we enjoy it."

"It's cool," Lindsey said, and Wesley almost swooned at the smile that was directed at him. "Can't say that I haven't had the occasional 'sleepover' with Angel. Though getting high and listening to him go on and on all damn night about how flexible Buffy is, ain't exactly the best way I can think of to spend the night."

Wesley laughed at that, and casually slid his hand into Lindsey's. "I don't have anything to worry about, do I?" he asked, but it was obvious to both of them that he wasn't worried.

"Nah. Regardless of some recent self-discovery, I think it's a sure bet that I'm _never_ gonna be attracted to Angel."

Lindsey pulled Wesley forward so they were standing so close to each other they were almost touching. "I think I need to get home," he said, and then ignored his own words completely and grabbed Wesley by the back of his head, forcing him forward and taking his lips in a fierce kiss. Home could wait a few minutes...

It was barely thirty seconds later and they were grinding against each other, hands pawing and hips gyrating, and Lindsey could feel the outline of Wesley's growing erection through the thin cotton of his boxers, and Lindsey's own cock was starting to answer.

He managed to push Wesley away, both of them panting and wanting desperately to continue, but it really was late. "Sorry, babe," he said, sounding like he hadn't been quite so sorry about anything in a while. "I really should go."

"Yes, of course. Sorry. I shouldn't have let us doze off like that."

"No, it... I liked it. Could have done without Spike walking in on us afterward, though."

"Yes, he can be rather difficult at times," Wesley agreed with a fond smile. "But I promise, he does grow on you."

Lindsey wasn't too sure about that, but let it slide. He slipped on his shoes and his jacket and put his hand on the door knob, pausing as he began to open it. "He's a dick, Wes," Lindsey said, but he didn't sound particularly malicious, just as if he were stating a rather neutral fact. Which he probably was. "But he's a good friend."

"Yes, I'm very lucky," Wesley said, and kissed Lindsey once more before he went home. And then went upstairs to kill Spike.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

"Oh, Lindsey," Wesley moaned, voice partially muffled by the pillow that he currently had his face buried in. "Fuck, Yes! Oh, _God_, don't stop."

"No chance of that happenin' babe," Lindsey said, his voice ragged and breathy, as he gripped Wesley's hip tighter in one hand and sped up both his thrusting and the motion of his hand on Wesley's dick. "Least not for another thirty seconds," he added with a snicker.

It was Thursday night, three days since Wesley and Lindsey had first had sex, and before tonight, they hadn't even spoken to each other since it happened. It wasn't as if they were avoiding each other, exactly, but they had both been feeling a little bit unsure of the other's reactions, stupid as they both knew it was, and neither wanted to be the first one to say something.

But then Thursday evening rolled around, and the second Wesley knocked on Lindsey's door he was kissed, soundly and dragged upstairs so Lindsey's bedroom, all hesitation on either of their parts a thing of the past as Lindsey threw him down on the bed and jumped on him.

They had taken some time to explore each other's bodies as they'd quickly divested the other of their clothing, and Lindsey had only been able to give Wesley about thirty seconds of playing with his cock after he'd pulled it out of his briefs before he couldn't take it anymore and had torn the stupid things off, along with Wesley's boxers and taken him.

"Fuck, Lindsey, I'm so close," Wesley panted, trying to move his hips so that Lindsey would brush over his sweet spot and send him over the edge. Lindsey held him still though, easily, with one strong arm, and damn if that didn't push him that much closer. It was alright. He'd just have to teach Lindsey about that another time.

"That's it. So hot. Fuck, Wes, I love your sweet ass." Lindsey bucked forward, hard, and cried out, stilling his movements for a second before starting to pump again, short little thrusts as he came and his hand moved erratically on Wesley's erection. "Come for me, Wes. God, Yes!"

And Wesley did, jerking and spasming around Lindsey and covering his lover's hand with warm spend. Lindsey pulled out and they both fell to the bed, breathing hard, and trading sloppy kisses as they slowly recovered.

"So," Lindsey said, as they both stared up at the ceiling. It was sort of plain, even as ceilings went, and Lindsey was struck with the odd thought that he wanted to decorate it somehow. Maybe some paint or some sort of funky tiling. "Wanna catch a movie tomorrow?"

Wesley turned his head to look at him and smiled. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

"Well," Lindsey answered, shrugging his shoulders as if he didn't care either way, then continued, in a teasing tone. "Seeing as how I've tapped your ass, twice, I think it's only proper."

Wesley playfully smacked him on the chest as his mouth opened in false shock. "Oh, _now_ you think about propriety. After you've forced me down on your bed and fucked me so hard I'm going to have trouble walking tomorrow? Typical."

"Sorry, baby," Lindsey said contritely, running his hand gently over Wesley's side and ass. "Did I hurt you?" He hadn't meant to be so rough, but Wesley was much too temping for him to take his time, and he hadn't seemed to mind.

"No, no. I'm fine. I _will_ be a bit sore tomorrow, but it'll be nice. Trust me." He mirrored the motion of Lindsey's hand, stopping when his own was resting over Lindsey's tail bone, and allowing his fingers to dip very lightly in the crack of his arse. "And when is it, my sweet," he asked, batting his eyelashes, "that _I_ get to tap _your_ arse?"

Lindsey grinned and kissed him. "When _you_ take _me_ out on a date."

"What?" Wesley spluttered. "I didn't make you take me out first! That was your idea!"

"Yeah, well." Lindsey pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows, getting out of bed to find his clothes. He kissed Wesley again, quickly, and stood to dress. "I'm not easy like you," he said with a grin, and ducked out of the way before Wesley could hit him in the ass with his belt.

***

Friday night, Lindsey showed up at Wesley's house in his truck, wearing his nicest pair of dark blue jeans and a burgundy button-down shirt. He wasn't dressed up, per se, but he did look good, and he should, he thought, because even though they'd been seeing each other for months, and they'd had sex, twice, and Lindsey had already called Wesley his boyfriend, this was their first official date.

He twirled a single red tulip between the fingers on one hand and rang the bell, waiting for Wesley to answer. When the door was opened, it wasn't exactly what Lindsey had been expecting.

A man stood before him, with slightly greying hair and wrinkles around his eyes, and he didn't look impressed. He stared at Lindsey with an appraising eye, arms crossed over his chest and when he didn't say anything Lindsey decided to speak first and cleared his throat.

"Hi, I'm..."

"Lindsey," the man, who must have been Wesley's father, said, in a sharp British accent. And it didn't sound like he was too happy about that. "Yes, my son has told me about you. You might as well come in."

Lindsey frowned, but did as the man suggested. He wondered what he could have done that would turn Wesley's father off him before they'd even met. It might just be that he was a boy, but Wesley had been out for so long, and had dated other guys before, so surely his dad must have known about it.

Lindsey hadn't even thought about telling his parents yet. He'd have to, he knew, and soon, but he wasn't all that worried about it. His father was so busy with work that he probably wouldn't have time to care, and Missy would probably think it was cute.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce," Lindsey said, trying to make the best of this encounter and holding out his free hand.

Wesley's father looked at him for a moment but accepted the handshake, giving Lindsey's hand a quick, half-hearted, pump before dropping it. "Yes, I'm sure." He walked over to the bottom of the stairs then, shouting up to his son, "Wesley! Your date is here!"

He turned back to Lindsey and gestured to the empty living room. "Have a seat while you wait, if you must. I'll be in my study." And he took off down the hall, leaving Lindsey standing in the entrance way.

There was no way Lindsey was having a seat, not without Wesley around, and he shuffled his feet on the pine planks of flooring for at least a minute that felt more like ten of them until Wesley came downstairs.

"Man, what's up with your dad?" was the first thing he said when Wesley stood in front of him, and then, "Oh, right, this is for you," and he blushed, handing Wesley the flower.

"Errr, thank you," Wesley said taking the flower and looking at it as if it was something he couldn't quite figure out. "This is... completely unnecessary."

"I thought you'd like it," Lindsey said, under his breath. Everyone else he'd ever dated had appreciated things like that, and he'd been trying to do something nice. The least Wesley could do was _pretend_ to be happy about it. Though now that he thought about it, he felt kind of stupid. Wesley wasn't a girl, and he shouldn't be treating him like one, but this was all still feeling sort of new.

"I... I do," Wesley said, shaking his head and smiling. "I'm sorry, it's lovely. It's just that nobody has ever given me a flower before, and I... Well, it just surprised me. Thank you." He made a show of smelling it and turned, Lindsey following him into the kitchen to put it in some water.

"Nobody? Really?" Lindsey asked. Wesley had been with Andrew for so long, he thought for sure that dork must have, at least once.

"No."

"Well, then," Lindsey said when Wesley finished with the flower and turned back to him. "You've been wasting your time on the wrong guys." He smiled a lascivious smile and leaned in to kiss Wesley on the lips.

"Mmmm," Wesley agreed when they were finished, licking his lips. "I'll say."

Lindsey laughed, warm and sweet and the sound flooded over Wesley, filling him with joy. "We'd better get going, or we'll miss the movie," he said, and then pulled Wesley closer. "Unless you'd rather stay here..."

"No way!" Wesley laughed, pushing him away. "I believe you owe me a proper night out."

"That I do, baby." Lindsey tugged on his hand and they headed toward the door.

"Oh," Wesley said, as he was putting on his shoes. "Don't worry about my father. It's nothing personal. He just takes a while to warm up to people." Lindsey nodded uncertainly and they stepped through the door, closing it behind them and starting toward Lindsey's truck.

"Especially the ones he thinks I'm going to have sex with," Wesley added when they got to Lindsey's truck, and Lindsey snorted.

"Little late for him to be worryin' about that, don't you think?"

***

When they got to the movie theatre Lindsey insisted on paying for the tickets, and the popcorn and the soda, and even a box of chocolate covered raisins, because he remembered Wesley mentioning once that he liked to mix them in with his hot popcorn, and let them get all melty and gooey, and Wesley let him.

They both sort of a got a kick out of it, the idea of Lindsey taking Wesley out, and they were both having fun playing it up, Lindsey opening doors for Wes, and Wesley offering playful kisses and coy smiles whenever Lindsey did something that pleased him. They were laughing, and holding hands and attempting to balance all their goodies between them, sharing just such a kiss as they walked toward their theatre, when they heard a distinctly familiar British voice say, from just behind them, "Oh, get a room, for fucks sake."

"Spike," Wesley growled and dropped Lindsey's hand, stepping back and turning around. And then he noticed Spike wasn't alone. Fred was there with him, which shouldn't really have been a surprise, but seeing Spike at all that night was a surprise. He tensed, noticeably, which he couldn't help thinking was opposite to his usual reaction around the lovely girl, but he couldn't help but feel that this situation was a tad awkward.

He glanced quickly at Lindsey to find his face completely unreadable, but tried not to think on it too much and looked back at Fred, smiling politely. "Hello Fred," he said to her, no trace of the slight unease he was feeling in his voice. "It's great to see you. I trust Spike isn't giving you too much trouble." He shot his friend a look that said it would be a first if he _wasn't_ giving someone some kind of trouble, and smiled back at Fred.

"Oh, he's behavin'," she answered, giggling when Spike protested that assessment. "You guys havin' fun?"

"Er... yes," answered Wesley, looking at Lindsey again, hoping that he would say _something_. The more he kept quiet, the weirder Wesley felt. "So far at least. I only hope the movie lives up to all the hype."

Lindsey wanted to punch Spike in the nose. Which wasn't an entirely new feeling, because he pretty much always wanted to punch Spike in the nose, but this was different. He was out with Fred. Here with Fred, where anybody could see them, and they'd know they were dating, and it wasn't as if Lindsey still wanted her, not like that, and he knew that she'd move on, and in theory he didn't have a problem with that, because he had too, and for fuck's sake, _Spike_?

And yeah, he knew about it already, Spike had made sure he knew about it, but that was very different to actually seeing them together, smiling and joking and touching and acting like he'd acted with her just a couple of months ago, and yes, he was jealous, in that odd way where you kind of weren't, but it still hurt.

And now he had to stand here and talk to them? With Wesley, who must feel just as weird about this as him, and the longer he glared daggers at Spike the more Wesley was probably thinking that he wanted to be in Spike's place, be back by Fred's side, and it wasn't true, but he was a little too caught up in his own feelings to worry about reassuring Wes at the moment.

"Yeah," he said, snapping out of it and not wanting to look like an idiot or worse for not saying anything. "Heard it's pretty good, but I guess we'll find out soon."

"Oh, are you guys in theatre 3?" Fred asked. Lindsey and Wesley nodded. "Oh, us too!" she said, grabbing Spike's hand and hugging her popcorn. "Why don't you sit with us?"

The three boys stared at each other, mouths slightly open, with thoughts of _fuck that_, and _no way in hell_ on the verge of being vocalised, and hoping, desperately, that one of them could come up with a suitable excuse for them to sit as far apart as was possible. None of them was willing to say that the reason they couldn't sit together was that it would make them uncomfortable, because none of them was willing to look stupid in front of Fred, who clearly had no problem with any of this, and didn't understand why anybody would.

Hiding the resigned sigh that Wesley very much wanted to let out, he shot the other two brief, accusing glances before he turned to Fred and said, "That would be nice. Thank you."

Fred smiled and nodded and tugged on Spike's hand, and Wesley and Lindsey followed behind them, to go into the theatre and find their seats.

Fred and Spike didn't spend much time watching the movie, and as a result, neither did Lindsey or Wesley. Spike and Lindsey were seated on either end of the foursome, with Wesley and Fred in be the middle, but Lindsey found himself almost wishing that Wesley and Fred would switch seats, just to keep Spike and Fred apart for a while.

It seemed like every five minutes there was a giggle from Fred, or some sort of shuffling around, touching, kissing, or a comment from Spike that Lindsey couldn't hear, which resulted in more giggling and more kissing.

And each time it happened Lindsey would lean close to Wesley and mumble something about how inappropriate it was, or how tacky, and how they should just knock it the hell off and watch the movie because this was a movie theatre, not a Motel 6. And more often than not he would say it loud enough that they could hear.

Wesley was not having a very good time.

After the movie ended, the four of them made their way out the front doors and stood awkwardly on the sidewalk. It was a little chilly out, oddly chilly, even for early December and Spike took his coat off and draped it over Fred's shoulders. She smiled her thanks at him, but Lindsey scowled, and Wesley rolled his eyes.

"So..." Fred started, feeling some of the tension, even though she'd like to pretend it didn't exist, or better yet, smack Spike for being particularly hands-on during the movie, when he knew Lindsey was watching, and smack Lindsey for watching, and getting pissed off about it, when it was really non of his business, and give Wesley a hug for being mature enough not to have walked out and headed home by himself a long time ago, because she was pretty sure that had Lindsey or Spike been in his position, they would have. Or at least caused a fuss.

"Does anyone want to go get a coffee?" she asked, feeling like someone needed to say something, but knowing that it wouldn't be a good idea.

"I dunno pet," Spike mumbled, standing behind her and resting his head on her shoulder. "Think maybe I should get you home." He didn't want to spend any more time with Lindsey than he had to, especially if all he had to look forward to was a running commentary on his behaviour.

"Yes," Wesley agreed, somewhat coldly. "And I really should be getting home as well." It wasn't Fred that he was upset with, or even Spike, really, though he could have tried to tone it down a little, but if he had to listen to Lindsey bitch about Fred and Spike for one more minute, he was likely to hit something.

"Right," Lindsey said, trying his best to ignore the way Spike was hanging all over Fred. "Well, see you guys later," he said. And then to Wesley, "Let's go, babe," and attempted to take his hand, a motion that Wesley cleanly avoided.

"Fred, it was lovely to see you, as always," Wesley said, with a polite nod of his head. Then, "Spike." And he turned and headed towards Lindsey truck, with Lindsey trailing after him.

***

"Lindsey was kind of a jerk tonight," Fred said, twenty minutes later, when Spike had driven her home and they were sitting on the cushioned bench on her front porch, side by side with a blanket wrapped around them. She wanted to point out that if Spike had been a little less grabby, Lindsey wouldn't have had any reason to be jerky, but she hadn't really been complaining at the time, hadn't even been thinking that Lindsey might be a little upset, though she supposed she should have.

"Yeah," Spike agreed and took her hand, giving it a slight squeeze. "You still love him, don't you?"

Fred moved a little closer to Spike, resting her head on his shoulder and sighed. "It's silly I know, but when we first got together, I thought he was _the one_. He was perfect. _We_ were prefect, and I thought it was really gonna work out."

Spike closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath, like he was going to say something, but didn't.

"And we weren't even together all that long, but we had a great summer, you know? And for a little while I thought... well, I thought I might be falling in love with him. But when school started up again somethin' changed."

"He started to like dick?"

"You don't have to be so crass about it," Fred scolded, and frowned at him.

"Sorry, love," he said. He knew she was right, but this wasn't exactly the easiest thing for him to hear. "I'm being arse, and I'm sorry. I just… don't like him. I'll try to be nicer." He didn't know what the problem was, really. Wesley and Fred obviously adored him, so he must have _some_ good qualities, but Spike was aware enough to admit that the fact that Wes and Fred adored him so much went a long way to making sure he _didn't_ like him.

She had a point, much as he hated to admit it. He was being completely unfair to the asshole, and it looked like they were going to be stuck with each other for a while, forced to spend the odd bit of time together because of their significant others. "God, between you and Wes, you'll have me bringin' him candy and takin' him out to dinner."

She kept up her impressively cowing frown for a few more seconds, but she seemed to accept Spike's apology, and her face softened.

"But... yeah. I didn't know that at first, obviously, but he was different, things were different between us, and it was hard, and then I started hangin' around you some, and it was easier."

"Glad I could help," he said, in a low mumble.

"I don't love him, Spike," she told him, clearly. "Not like that. And he doesn't love me, but I think it must have been weird for him to see me with someone else."

"Yeah, and I don't think the fact that _I_ was that someone made it any easier on him," said Spike, fingers moving slowly over her knee.

Fred tried to smile, but it came out more like a cringe when she thought about how right Spike was. What the hell had made her think that the four of them sitting together would be a good thing? "And it's not like we didn't provoke him. Oh, God, we're terrible! I mean, how would you feel?"

Spike had only ever had one actual girlfriend before, and that had been back in England, but he had to concede that it wouldn't have felt all that great to see her out with someone he hated just a few weeks after they'd split. He sighed and tilted his head, looking at her, and not bothering to answer, asked her, "So how come it didn't bother _you_? Seeing your ex huggy-bear with someone else. Or did it?"

Her frown grew deeper for a few seconds as she thought about that. No, it didn't bother her. At all. It had been so far from a problem for her that she had momentarily forgotten that it would be for anyone else, but she couldn't really say why. Now that she thought about it, she could understand Lindsey's reaction, and Spike's, because they were normal.

And it wasn't as if she hadn't really cared for Lindsey. She had, very much, and still did, and when they'd first gotten together she had let herself daydream of them growing up and old together, of getting married and having a family and living happily ever after. But it hadn't been long before she recognised the adolescent fantasy as just that, and the truth was, as much as she and Lindsey had meant to each other, it hadn't ever been anything like what she had with Spike, like what she thought Lindsey had with Wes.

"I don't know why," she answered honestly, and put her hand over his on her leg, rested her head on his shoulder. Maybe because being gay was something that had nothing to do with her. It wasn't as if Lindsey didn't like her, love her in his own way, it wasn't as if she meant nothing to him. She just… couldn't be what he needed and, and that was nobody's fault, and she didn't begrudge him something, some_one_ that _could_ be what he needed. "I just... I'm happy for him. And for me," she added, smiling and biting him lightly on the arm.

Spike laughed and pulled her closer to him with an arm around her shoulders. "Well," he said. "I certainly hope that happiness has something to do with me."

She looked up, face completely earnest and kissed him, sound and long before pulling back. "It has everything to do with you."

***

After a stony silence on the drive home, Wesley got out of the car, just barely managing not to slam the door behind him, and headed to his front door without a word or a glance back at Lindsey.

Lindsey sighed and got out of the car also, following after his boyfriend down the drive and up the porch steps. "Wes, wait," he called, jogging to catch up.

"Oh, wow," Wesley said, turning, voice dripping with sarcasm. "You actually remember my name. I suppose I should be happy for that, at least."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Lindsey had noticed that Wesley had been in a bad mood for most of the night, and it was probably because they'd run into Spike and Fred, but that wasn't Lindsey's fault, and he was getting a little fed up with Wes being such a shit to him.

"What am I..." Wesley looked at him as if he couldn't believe anyone could be so stupid, and it wasn't the first time he'd given Lindsey that look. Lindsey found it much less cute this time, though. "Do you really have no idea?"

"Do I have an idea that you've been in a pissy mood and taking it out on me? Yeah, I've got a pretty good idea."

"Oh. God. You really are that obtuse," Wesley said, shaking his head in disbelief. "If this is how you behaved on your dates with Fred, it's little wonder that she never put out for you."

"Okay," Lindsey said, taking a menacing step closer to Wesley. He was pretty sure he wouldn't hit him, but if Wesley kept up being such an ass, he couldn't say for certain. "You can shut the fuck up any time now, Wes. You know jack about my relationship with Fred."

"No," Wesley agreed, voice as dark as Lindsey's, and standing up as straight as he could, determined not to be cowed by Lindsey's physical superiority. "Nothing, you're right. Just that you wish it wasn't over."

"That I..." Lindsey blinked and unconsciously relaxed. Shit, he hadn't given Wesley that impression, had he? "What are you talking about?" he asked, but his tone, instead of harsh and accusing was leaning more towards genuinely curious.

Wesley sighed. "You'd better come in. Nobody's home anyway, father's plane left an hour ago, and we really shouldn't have this conversation on the front porch, for the neighbours to see." He unlocked the front door and ushered Lindsey inside, following him and shutting the door behind them both.

They took off their shoes and jackets, not bothering to put them away neatly, and headed for the living room, Lindsey sitting down on the leather sofa, Wesley on one of the chairs on the other side of the room.

Lindsey tried not to read too much into the fact that Wesley hadn't sat next to him, and the way they were both feeling at the moment, it was probably a good thing. "I don't..." he started, only to have Wesley cut him off with a look. He snapped his mouth shut and then scowled at his own actions. When the hell had Wes become the boss of him?

"All night Lindsey," Wesley began, deceptively casually. "All night, I've had to listen to you go on, and on about Fred, and her new boyfriend, and how they should do this and shouldn't do that. All night, all you paid any attention to was her, and I was _right there_. Right next to you. Your _date_, Lindsey."

Lindsey opened his mouth to respond, but again, Wesley's hard look prevented it.

"It was our first date, and you picked me up, and gave me a flower, and bought me popcorn, and it was..." his expressions softened, thinking about how the evening had started out, and wishing it had stayed that way throughout the night. "It was wonderful, and I thought that you... were happy. With me. And then your ex showed up, and you forgot I was there, but for bitching to me about the fact that she was with someone else."

Lindsey shook his head, thinking about what Wesley was saying and trying to figure out if it was true. "I wasn't..." But maybe he was. Yeah, okay, Wesley was right. That probably wasn't a very good way to act on a date. Especially a first date. With your new boyfriend.

"But Spike…"

"Shut the bloody hell up about Spike, would you?!" Wesley yelled, and then sighed, shaking his head and getting himself under control. "You wouldn't have complained nearly so often or so quite so loudly, wouldn't have had near the number of nasty and mean-spirited little comments had she been out with somebody else, would you have?"

"I… He's an asshole Wes!" Lindsey said, getting angry all over again, thinking about it. Wes was right. Sure it still would have bothered him to see her with anyone, but Spike… that just made it worse. "He's rude and arrogant and he just… rubs me the wrong way. He's not good enough for her."

Wesley didn't know whether to be more upset about the fact that Lindsey had such a low opinion of his best friend, not that it was something he hadn't already known, or the fact that he was still so worried about Fred's love life. "You're not exactly the picture of charm and good manners when he's around either, Lindsey," he pointed out, instead of mentioning the other things yet. "Especially tonight."

"But he was only acting like that to piss me off!"

Wesley was angry, and he was upset, and he was beginning to feel like he was completely irrelevant, but managed to push that back and give Lindsey a disbelieving, condescending look. "Is that what you think? That's… Spike. I assure you, his behaviour tonight was not for your benefit, or anyone's, besides his own and Fred's. Yes," he conceded, "he could have toned it down a bit, so as not to rub your nose in it, but believe it or not, Lindsey, not everyone's world revolves around you."

Lindsey said nothing, but didn't look as if he entirely believed Wesley about that.

"And even if he _had_ been trying to piss you off," Wesley said, and while he still didn't think that was strictly true, he had no doubt that Spike had enjoyed the fact that it was end result and had made no effort to change his behaviour. And yes, if he was being honest he had to admit that he suspected that once Spike had realised the affect his actions were having on Lindsey he probably did take it up a notch, just to be able to watch him squirm. The bastard.

He'd been too angry with Lindsey earlier, was still incredibly angry, but he was starting to cool off a little, and now that he was thinking a little more clearly he found that he was pretty pissed off with Spike, too. He was going to need to have a talk with him, seriously, make him understand that Lindsey was important to him, and he wasn't going to put up with Spike hurting him like that. But right now, he was talking to Lindsey.

"You shouldn't have…" he trailed off and looked down, not quite knowing how to tell Lindsey that he shouldn't have noticed, shouldn't have cared, should have been thinking about him, and not about his ex-girlfriend, without sounding like a jealous jerk.

"You're with _me_ now, Lindsey," he said, quietly, desperately. "Not her."

"I…" Lindsey started, and blinked, realising how much what had happened tonight was hurting Wesley. That was no good. And he was right; Lindsey had been sort of a jackass. Spike had been too, he thought, with his punk slacker hands all over Fred, in a public place with Lindsey sitting right there. But yeah, he hadn't bothered to think about how his reaction would affect Wesley. "I wasn't thinking," he said, and ignored Wesley's snort of agreement for the moment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... I shouldn't have been paying that much attention to them. To her."

"So why were you?" Wesley asked, even though he was terrified of the answer.

Lindsey just stared at him, not knowing how to answer. What the hell could he say? That he still thought about her? That the idea of her with Spike pissed him off, even though he was with Wes? That he missed her? It was true, but it probably wouldn't make Wesley feel any better.

"Do you really think you made a mistake?" Wesley asked, hoping that Lindsey would say 'no', and scared that he wouldn't. "Do you think that's what this is?" he asked, gesturing between them. "Something that shouldn't have happened? Do you think you should still be with her? Is that what you want?"

Lindsey thought about it. Really thought about it. For almost a minute, and in that minute Wesley's heart caught in his throat and his chest felt hollow and he thought he'd stopped breathing entirely, and he felt the bottom fall out of his entire world. Until Lindsey finally spoke.

"No," he said, offering a slight smile. "Of course not. I never thought that, and if I made you think it, I'm sorry, baby." He hadn't been thinking that, not once since that first time that he'd almost kissed Wesley. It was scary, this new thing they had, and a part of him thought that being with Fred would be easier, more familiar, less frightening, but that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted Wesley. He looked down at the couch seat beside him and back up at his boyfriend. "Sit with me?"

Wesley was unsure, but just as ever, he was incapable of denying Lindsey anything, so he got up and crossed the room, sitting next to him and tensing when the other boy turned and kissed him.

Lindsey backed off right away. He hadn't meant it as a lead-in to anything, just a small show of affection, but if Wesley didn't want it yet, then he wasn't going to force it. "I promise you, you're the one I want to be with. I just... Fuck, Spike makes me crazy, and it's hard, you know? Seeing someone you used to be with, all... being with someone else. If I was a jack-ass..."

He stopped and laughed at Wesley's raised eyebrow at the word 'if'. "Okay, I _was_ a jack-ass, and I'm sorry, Wes. It just might be hard for a while. You know?"

Wesley nodded. He did know. It had taken him much longer than a few weeks to get over seeing Andrew with the next boy he'd dated. Then again, he hadn't wanted that relationship to end. He'd still loved Andrew. He wasn't entirely sure that Lindsey didn't feel the same way about Fred, on some level, but he supposed there were never any guarantees about anything. Lindsey was with him, wanted to be with him, and that was what mattered. "I'm sorry, too," he said, leaning in to complete the kiss Lindsey had attempted, and taking his hand when they were finished.

"I got a little crazy, I suppose. I know it's ridiculous to want your attention focused solely on me, and the truth is, I don't, really. Just... when your focus drifted tonight, so much... well, it stung, and the insecure part of my brain overreacted, and I was convinced that you still wanted her."

"You were jealous," Lindsey said, grinning, like it was the only thing he'd gotten out of their entire conversation. He wasn't sure why, but he kind of liked that idea.

Wesley gave him a reproachful look, but ultimately caved in, and gave Lindsey what he wanted. "Yes," he admitted. "I was. I am. And the funny thing is, I never was before tonight. You told me that you and Fred had broken up, that you weren't attracted to each other anymore, and I believed you. I had no reason to think that you might want her back, not with the way you... or what we..." he snorted at himself and tried again.

"After we started to... get together, I was convinced that you were only interested in me. But tonight... The way you looked at her, the way you wouldn't let it go, the things you said, how much it bothered you to see her with Spike... Now I'm beginning to think that you may not be as over her as you claimed to be. And I know it's selfish, but I don't like it."

"Wes, _no_," Lindsey said, forcefully, and shook his head once, in a jerky movement. "No, I am. Mostly."

"Oh, that's comforting," Wesley murmured.

"You know what I mean," Lindsey told him, threading his fingers deeper through Wesley's. "Just because you don't like someone like you did, doesn't mean you don't like them."

"Yes, I do know what you mean," Wesley said. "And I believe you when you tell me that I'm the one you want. And as long as you're always honest with me, I'll always believe you. You mean so much to me, you make me so happy, things between us just feel so… _right_." He smiled self-deprecatingly. "I'm afraid I'm going to wake up any minute now."

"Yeah," Lindsey nodded, and smiled back, shy but honest. "Me too."

Wesley was feeling a bit better for having talked and Lindsey was hoping that he had convinced Wesley that he had nothing to worry about. They were quiet for a while, softly playing their fingers against each others, until Lindsey broke the peaceful silence.

"So... wanna do it?" he asked with a hopeful leer.

Wesley laughed out loud and covered Lindsey's lips with his, and they pressed softly together, moving over each other, tasting and experiencing, before Wesley stood, pulling Lindsey with him. "I thought you'd never ask," he said, and tugged Lindsey up the stairs and toward his bedroom.

***

"Fuck, Wes," Lindsey gasped, ten minutes later, when he was naked and looking down at his lover, thrusting into him slowly. They'd hurried out of their clothes and Lindsey hadn't bothered preparing Wesley, just wanting to get inside him, but now that he was there he wanted to take his time, not that he really thought he could when Wesley twitched and arched and clenched underneath him.

He'd never felt anything like this, nothing as amazing as fucking Wes, and not for the first time he wondered what it would be like to be on the other side of things. He wasn't too worried about it though, figured they'd get there when they were ready, and alright he might be waiting for Wes to make the first move. Again. Like a great big fuckin' pussy.

He couldn't feel bad about it though, or about how much of a girl he was being for falling so hard, so fast for Wesley. Not when Wesley was gazing up at him like that, face contorted in a beautiful mix of ecstasy and affection so deep it nearly hurt, and looking so damn sexy, spread out for him, writhing, body glistening with a fine sheen of sweat and moaning softly.

He knew if he wasn't careful he was going to be in way too deep to get out again without some serious heartache, but he didn't care. What he was doing felt right, in a way that nothing ever had before, and he needed it.

"Shit! Lindsey, right there!" Wesley cried out, tilting his hips just a little to get a better angle. Lindsey was a phenomenal lover, but Wesley honestly wouldn't have cared if he wasn't. Sure, at first what had attracted him had been Lindsey's looks, his body, his status, and if he hadn't had the sexual prowess to back it up, Wesley would have been disappointed, but now… Now things were much, much different, and Wesley was completely, hopeless in love with him, "Fuck, I need to come!"

"Do it baby," Lindsey growled, leaning in close and kissing Wes quick and hard on the mouth. "Wrap your fingers around that gorgeous cock of yours and jerk yourself for me while I fuck you."

Wesley keened piteously, getting dangerously close to the edge, and doing as Lindsey asked, helpless to do anything else. And _God_, but it felt good.

"I'm close Wes," Lindsey warned, burying his face in Wesley's neck and speeding up his thrusts. "Come for me. Cover yourself in it."

Wesley slammed his eyes shut and threw his head back, breath stopping for several seconds as he did as Lindsey asked, again, and shot heavy white jets of semen over Lindsey's fingers and onto his chest and stomach.

Lindsey followed less than a minute later, biting down hard on the skin of Wesley's neck, leaving a fairly impress set of marks, that he was going to have trouble hiding. Neither of them cared, and they stayed as they were until Lindsey softened and slipped free and then he swiped some tissues off Wesley's desk and cleaned them up, before climbing back into Wesley's bed for a few more minutes before he had to head home.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

***

Lindsey showed up at Angel's house a little before eight o'clock on Saturday night. _Evil Hand_ was practicing there, like they always did, even though they didn't have any gigs lined up for the next little while. They were mostly about having fun and goofing off, anyway.

Oz wasn't there yet, so he took his guitar over to the ratty old couch with him, and absently tuned it as he sat, while Angel fiddled with his drum set.

"What?" Lindsey asked after a few minutes of silence, wondering why Angel was looking at him like that.

"You're fuckin' queer," Angel said, not at all accusing, but with a certain measure of awe. It wasn't as if he minded, entirely. Oz was gay, and he was completely cool with that, but… he just hadn't seen it coming. _Really_ hadn't seen it coming.

"What are you talking about?" Lindsey asked. He hadn't mentioned anything about Wesley to Oz or Angel, but he hadn't gone out of his way to hide it, so it was possible that Angel had stopped thinking about himself and whether or not he could get Buffy to wear the cheerleading outfit, minus the little red panties, for a private cheer, long enough to notice something about one of his best friends.

Angel smiled. "I'm talking about you and your little nerd, out at the Sun last night, all over each other. Lindsey, man, if you were going to switch teams, at least you could have found someone better that _him_."

"Hey!" Lindsey protested. "There's nothing wrong with Wes." Angel snorted at that, and Lindsey's first instinct was to punch him in the nose, but instead he chuckled. He couldn't really be too upset about it. It wasn't so long ago that he'd though about as much of his boyfriend as Angel did. But he knew better now. "Once you get to know him, I swear, man, you're gonna like him."

"Once I.... No way. If you want to fuck the little twerp that's your business, but don't expect me to hang out with him." Angel was joking around, mostly, and honestly, Lindsey would have thought it odd if Angel hadn't been giving him a hard time.

Lindsey rolled his eyes. "You know, I'm thinkin' _he's_ gonna have a much harder time learning how to like _you_."

"Come on," Angel said, grinning and preening. "Everybody likes me."

"Yeah, must be real nice where you are," Lindsey teased. "Anyway, how the hell did you know I was out with Wes last night? I didn't tell you."

Oz walked in then, from the door to the house, with his bass slung over his shoulder, and slowly ambled across the floor to the area they had the equipment set up, putting his instrument down and looking at Angel and then Lindsey.

He tilted his head in hello, face remaining passive, as ever. "S'up?"

"Oh," Angel said, with a shit-eating grin. "We're just talking about Lindsey's new hobby of taking it up the ass."

"Shut up!" Lindsey ordered.

"Oh, yeah," Oz added, neutrally. "Heard about that."

"What?! What the hell did you hear? And who the hell from?"

Oz shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. To him it wasn't. Lindsey was into guys. So what? Oz had been for as long as he could remember, and it wasn't as if Lindsey could really have expected that nobody would notice. "Ran into Harmony this morning at the Espresso pump. Said she saw you and Wes at the movies together. _Together_ together."

"Yeah," Angel said, nodding. "Buffy called me this afternoon, said she heard from like, a dozen people that you guys were practically doing it by the snack bar." He didn't even get through the sentence without letting out a small chuckle, but in his defence, he did try to hold it in.

"Shit," Lindsey whispered. He didn't mind people knowing about him and Wesley, he hadn't been lying to Wes when he'd told him he wasn't ashamed of him, but he hated to be the subject of gossip, and Lindsey McDonald turning gay was gossip for the ages. "And what the hell's so goddamned funny, anyway?" He snapped, glaring at Angel.

"Nothing," Angel answered, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "It's just... Linds, man, you're _gay_. And that's... okay, maybe not funny, but... it's a bit of a shock."

"No, you're right," Lindsey agreed, and rested his guitar between his legs on the ground. "It is a little funny. I can honestly say I wasn't expectin' this either. And I don't even know if I _am_ gay."

"Do you like having sex with men?" Oz asked, trying to be helpful.

Lindsey glared at him. "I like having sex with _Wesley_."

"Hmmm, good point," Angel said, pretending to take it very seriously. "I'm not sure if he's really a man, so yeah, you might not be gay."

"Funny. No I just meant that I've never thought about any other guys, so I don't know if it's just him, or... does it matter?" His question was directed at Angel, because he knew it didn't matter to Oz. Hell, he knew it didn't matter to Angel either, but Angel was bound to make a lot more fun of him than Oz ever would, no matter what the answer turned out to be.

Angel didn't disappoint. "Well, I just want to know if I should avoid waving my ass at you. Wouldn't want you to go and jump me because you can't handle how hot I am."

"Oz," Lindsey asked. "Can you think of one reason, even just a really tiny one, that we hang out with this shithead?"

"We get to play in his garage, and his brother gets us beer," Oz offered. "Two reasons."

"Plus, you love me," Angel said, smugly.

Lindsey snorted out a laugh. "Yeah, we do. Shithead."

"So," Oz said, kicking lightly at his bass. "Practice?"

***

That night Spike and Wesley had a few people over. Wesley's father was out of town, as usual, and _Hellmouth_ was getting together to practice anyway, so they figured they would throw a party, and use Spike's band as the entertainment.

Wesley had argued that calling it _entertainment_ was a case of false advertising, but most of their friends knew that already, and everyone always had a good time, regardless, so he conceded that no harm would be done.

At around ten o'clock, and after a couple of drinks, _Hellmouth_ took their first break, and Wesley found himself chatting with Faith near Spike's kitchen sink.

"I wonder where Charles is tonight," Wesley commented absently. He usually showed up to things like this.

"How the hell should I know?" Faith asked, defensively, and screwed up her face.

Wesley looked at her, scrutinising. "Right, sorry. Just thinking out loud."

"Thinking about what?" Spike asked, coming up behind Faith and wrapping an arm around her.

"Hey, hands off, blondie," Faith said, grinning, then pushing his arm off her and stepping out of the way. "You're a one woman guy now."

"Bugger," Spike said, and honestly looked like he was in mourning for a fraction of a second before he broke out in a grin. "So what we talking about?"

"I was just wondering where Charles was, and Faith just about took my head off."

"Well," Spike said, looking over at Faith and completely ignoring her pleading look. "That's cause she's sweet on him, and gets all flustered when anyone mentions his name." He was entirely too pleased with himself, and Faith punched him. Hard. In the arm.

"Really?" Wesley asked. He hadn't even considered that. Perhaps he should pay more attention. "You and Charles?"

"No!" Faith balked, and punched Spike once more for good measure before walking off to find someone else to talk to. She didn't need to stand around and listen to that shit, even if it was true.

"She so is," Spike said to Wesley. "Oh, and he called me earlier. His little sis is out on a date, so he's staying home and waiting up. Poor guy."

"I think they'll be good together," mused Wesley, watching as Faith wandered over to Anya and some others. They were both good friends of his, and he loved them dearly, and now that he considered it, he thought they could really make each other happy.

Spike snickered. "You're just saying that 'cause you're in love now, and you want everyone to be."

Wesley looked at him.

"Oh, alright. I think so too." He laughed. "But then, I think I might be in the same boat as you, Wes."

***

An hour later the band took their second break, which ended up lasting the rest of the night. Nobody minded, in fact some were truly thankful, and Spike tossed on a few CD's, and the rest of the night was filled with dancing and drinking and hanging out.

And Connor, though he wished he could just ignore him altogether, seemed to be almost as caught up in Wesley as he had ever been, and couldn't seem to stop looking at him, following him, talking to him, touching him.

When Wesley went to the fridge to grab a couple of beers for himself and Anya, Connor was there, standing next to him, leaning over him, arm brushing against him, to grab one of his own.

When Wesley sat on Spike's bed arguing with Jonathon, Andrew's best friend, over who was the best captain of the Enterprise, Connor was there, standing on front of them and laughing and pretending he had any idea what they were talking about, and beaming with pride when Wesley drunkenly called one of his bullshit statements about which one was the cutest 'genius'.

And then there was some comment about Andrew and Captain Archer that sent Jonathon and Wesley into hysterics, that Connor didn't understand and he excused himself to get another drink.

When Wesley slumped on Spike's couch, smiling as he watched Spike and Fred talking and kissing, quietly in the far corner, and wishing that he'd thought to invite Lindsey tonight, Connor came to sit beside him, so close that their legs touched.

Wesley was feeling more than a little buzzed, and despite missing Lindsey, more than a little happy, because he'd be with Lindsey again soon, and tonight he was with his friends.

"Having a good time?" Connor asked, pushing his leg against Wesley's and nudging it, lightly.

"Hmmm? Oh, yes. Though, this is my house; I should he asking you that question," Wesley answered, with a smile that melted Connor.

"I'm good," Connor told him, and couldn't help but return the smile with a ridiculous, adoring look.

Wesley looked over at him and nudged his leg back. "You know, you guys are really beginning to suck much, much less." He hoped it was clear to Connor that he was talking about his band.

Connor laughed and, as casually as he could manage, rested his hand on Wesley's thigh. "Thanks," he said, and Wesley could hear the eye roll in his voice. "We have fun."

"And that's what matters," Wesley told him, thinking, in his drunken haze, like most everyone did, that he knew all there was to know. "You need to do what makes you happy. Anything else is just a waste of time." He nodded, a punctuation to his statement, and let his eyes go soft as he looked at Connor. He really was a terrific boy, and he really thought that they could be friends, now that he'd stopped trying to have sex with him.

"Do what makes me happy?" Connor asked, and leaned a little closer to Wesley.

"Of course," Wesley said, completely, stupidly, oblivious.

"You make me happy," Connor said, and leaned even closer. He lifted his hand up to cup the side of Wesley's face. "This makes me happy," he confessed, and closed the short distance between them to kiss Wesley, so gently he thought it might hurt.

Wesley couldn't help but respond at first; who could, when someone you're physically attracted to kisses you? But it was wrong. He was with Lindsey, and he'd told Connor that this couldn't continue. "Connor," Wesley said, a little short of breath as he pulled back and pushed at Connor. "We talked about this."

"Yeah," Connor answered, and brushed his lips against Wesley's again. "And I get it. We're not a couple. But we also talked about us still being attracted to each other, so what's wrong with this?"

"Connor," Wesley started, and then his breath caught as Connor's teeth closed down on the side of his neck. "Fuck, Connor, God."

"Mmmm," Connor mumbled, around Wesley's skin. "Yeah, this is good."

_Yes_, Wesley thought, _Yes, it was good_. But it shouldn't be. "No," he said, gently pushing Connor away. The boy was tempting, but he loved Lindsey. He was the only one he wanted. "No, it's... Okay, it is good. Very good," he admitted with a snort. "But... it's not right. I'm sorry," he said, and placed Connor's hand on the boy's own leg, pulling back so that they weren't touching at all.

"Wes," Connor protested. "I promise, I won't ask for anything more than this. Don't worry."

"Connor," Wesley told him, and shook his head. "I don't believe you," he said, which was true, but not the most important thing he could have said.

"Please, Wes," Connor tried. "I know you want me. Just... please..."

"I did," Wesley half agreed. "I did want you. And yes, I still find you attractive. God, I'd have to be a much better person not to, but... no. I don't believe that you would take it only as a physical interlude, and more importantly..." He shook his head, and Connor grabbed for his hand again.

"I'm in a relationship," Wesley said, quickly, avoiding the touch. "I'm with someone, and I'm very dedicated to making that work, and yes, I'm attracted to you Connor," he told him, and Connor's hand drifted into his lap and clenched tight over his cock.

Wesley once again pushed Connor's hand away. "But I have a boyfriend." Even if he wasn't with Lindsey he still would have turned Connor down, but he didn't know if it would make things better or worse to tell him that.

"Sorry," Connor said, and pulled his hands back like they'd been burned. He really didn't want to hear about Lindsey, and Wesley's relationship with him, how perfect the son of a bitch was. "I hope... Well, no, I'm not gonna say that I hope you're happy with him, because I don't. I hope you're happy with _me_. I think _I'm_ way better for you than he could ever hope to be, and I really wish you could see that."

Wesley shook his head, heart breaking because he had to go through this all over again, put Connor through this again. Why the hell could the kid not just let it go? "I already am happy, Connor. And you will be too, I promise. You just need to let yourself."

"Yeah," Connor said, completely unconvinced, and got up, wandering off, hurt and angry and trying not to think about the fact that Wesley was right.

***

Monday evening at Lindsey's house Wesley was completely content to get trounced at Lindsey's video football game, especially since each time his boyfriend made a brilliant pass or scored a touchdown Wesley was treated to a celebratory grope.

It wasn't long after Wesley noticed the pattern that he began to do poorly on purpose, and it wasn't long after that that they had forgotten about the game entirely and were rolling around on Lindsey's basement floor, acting every bit the hormone-filled teenage boys they were. And they loved it.

It wasn't long after that that Lindsey's stepmom shouted down the stairs that she was home, and with twin grunts of frustration the boys climbed back onto the couch and opened up a couple of books, in case Missy decided to come down. And since they had nothing better to do, they actually managed to read a little.

At school on Tuesday, Wesley noticed Connor having lunch with Andrew. Or, Faith noticed it, and pointed it out, loudly, and thought it was pretty funny, but Spike growled a little, under his breath, and made it quite clear that he didn't think Andrew was good enough for Connor, especially after the way he'd treated Wesley last year.

Anya pointed out that just because the boys were both gay, and probably lonely, and Connor was heartbroken and most likely looking for a good rebound distraction, there was no reason to think they were having sex with each other. They were just eating lunch.

Wesley, though he knew he had no right, felt an irrational flare of jealousy at the thought that his two ex-shags might be shagging each other, but then Lindsey walked past his table, with Oz and Angel, on their way to or from somewhere, and winked at him, and he forgot all about Connor and Andrew.

Wednesday morning before classes started Wesley and Lindsey met at their lockers, and stood close together, and traded a few inconsequential words between all the kisses they exchanged. When Angel showed up to meet Lindsey so they could walk to class together, making gagging sounds and pretending to hide his eyes from the sight of them, they broke apart, smiling, and Wesley watched Lindsey go, bumping into Angel and sending the larger boy stumbling.

Thursday night Wesley called Lindsey and told him he wasn't coming over that night, because exams were coming up the following week, and since not everyone was as naturally gifted as Lindsey, he wanted to stay home and get some studying done.

But Lindsey promised to behave himself, and he couldn't argue with the fact that he might want to give his notes a quick once over before he wrote his exams, and Wesley, to his surprise, only had to spend half the night denying Lindsey's advances, and for the first time, they actually managed to study together.

***

Friday night, after promising Spike, a dozen times, that he'd be very, very careful, Wesley borrowed Spike's car, and drove to Lindsey's house.

He was a little nervous, because he hadn't told Lindsey he was coming over, but he figured Lindsey would be happy to see him, regardless, and only hoped that he would agree to go out on such short notice. He knocked on the door and waited, and after several seconds the door was opened by Lindsey's stepmother.

"Oh hi!" she greeted with a pleasant smile. "Wesley, right?"

He swallowed and blinked and snapped his eyes up from her chest – and why the hell did she always insist on wearing such revealing clothing? – and tried to smile back. "Er, yes. Nice to see you again Mrs. McDonald." And how weird was that, calling her Mrs. McDonald? They'd attended the same high school at the same time!

"Please," shaking her head and stepping back to allow Wesley entrance. "Call me Missy. You're here to see Lindsey?"

"Yes," Wesley answered. "Is he home?" He knew he was, he'd talked to him on the phone an hour ago, and Lindsey had said that he was planning to spend the night in and do a bit of cramming for finals, but he had a feeling Lindsey was going to like what he had planned better than that.

"Sure," she said, in that sugary voice of hers that would have been irritating if it weren't so honest. "He's downstairs." She held out her arm in the direction of the stairs, indicating that Wesley go and find him.

"Thank you," Wesley said, and made his way down.

When he got the bottom of the stairs, he froze, dick hardening in his pants so fast that it almost hurt when he saw the television, volume muted, but displaying the unmistakable image of two men involved in some very pleasurable looking activities, and they were gorgeous.

Wesley didn't watch very much porn – it was always too fake, and the men were usually too hairy or too muscled or too old, and it didn't really do a lot for him – but this, from the 10 seconds he'd seen so far, was much better quality than what he was used to.

He looked around the room, not seeing anyone, and took a few quiet steps forward until he could see over the back of the couch, and his breath caught when he found Lindsey lying there, staring at the television, pants unbuttoned, and gliding his hand over his slick erection, moaning quietly and taking hitching breaths.

Wesley wanted very badly to join him on the couch, take his clothes off, and Lindsey's, and act out in real life what was currently happening on the television screen, but there was something else he wanted more, and he put a lid on his desire, at least for the time being.

"Am I interrupting something?" Wesley asked with a smirk, voice playful, and raised his eyebrow when Lindsey stilled his hand and whipped head around to face him.

"Wes!" Lindsey croaked, heart racing from the shock of being caught, and tried to discreetly adjust his pants to hide his raging hard-on. As he did, his hips rolled a little and he landed on the remote, hitting the volume button and sending the sounds of moaning and panting and one man begging for 'more' and 'harder' while the other called him a 'good little bitch' into the otherwise silent room.

"Shit," he cursed, and scrambled for the remote, shutting the television off completely, and sitting up straight, then looked sheepishly back at Wes. "I was just..." And it was pretty obvious what he was doing, but he was too mortified to say it, so he let the sentence die and sort of winced, waiting for Wesley to say something.

"Just jerking off to two men fucking?" Wesley offered, clearly getting a kick out of catching his boyfriend like that.

Lindsey sighed and waved his hand over the couch next to him and Wesley sat down, smiling. "This whole liking guys thing is kinda new to me," Lindsey started. "And I sort of needed to..."

"Needed to find out if you really _are_ attracted to men in general, or I'm some sort of anomaly?" Wesley had never been through that himself, but he'd talked to people who had, and he understood. Or hoped he did. "I think the verdict is in," he offered with a quirk of his lips and a nod at Lindsey's crotch.

Lindsey chuckled and tucked himself back in properly, fastening his pants over his fading erection. "Yeah, guess so," he agreed. "Sorry, babe. This really isn't a habit," he said, indicating the television and the video that had been playing. "I'm just trying to figure some stuff out."

"Lindsey, it's fine," Wesley assured him, placing a comforting hand on his knee. "It's not as if I don't enjoy this kind of thing from time to time. I think you'd be hard pressed to find someone who doesn't, and truly, I don't mind."

"Still..." Lindsey said, not ready to admit that he had enjoyed it as much as they both knew he had. He'd watched plenty of girl-on-guy action, and quite a bit of girl-on-girl, but two guys.... yeah, he'd been getting off on it, but it was... new.

"In fact," Wesley continued, with a flirty look. "If I didn't have other plans for us, I'd encourage you to continue while I watched."

"Other plans?" Lindsey asked, finally realising that Wesley was at his house when they hadn't talked about that happening. "What plans?"

"I'm taking you out on a date."

***

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Wesley shut off the car and turned to Lindsey, smiling hopefully.

"We're here," he said, and waited for Lindsey to get out of the car.

"The beach?" Lindsey asked. "I think it's a little cool for a swim, Wes."

"We're not swimming, you moron," Wesley said, rolling his eyes. "We're just... oh, shut up and get out of the car."

"You know," Lindsey said, suppressing a grin. "You've really gotta work on your dating skills. Calling someone names and ordering them around isn't likely to get you lucky."

"Ordinarily I'd agree with you," Wesley said, leaning forward to give Lindsey a quick kiss before reaching for his own door handle. "But _you're_ my date, Lindsey, and just about any way I behave with you is likely to get me lucky."

"Fucker," Lindsey muttered fondly, shaking his head, and followed Wesley out of the car.

The beach was deserted, which wasn't exactly a surprise. It was 20 miles out of town, in a place that wasn't very frequented at the best of times, and it was after dark in December, so the chances that too many people would be wanting to take a dip at present were pretty slim.

Lindsey watched as Wesley opened up the trunk and took out a large throw blanket and one of those old fashioned wicker picnic baskets. Wesley shook the blanket out and laid it on the sand not too far from the water, and placed the basket on top, then looked at Lindsey expectantly, and Lindsey walked over to him, smiling.

"A picnic?"

"Yes," Wesley answered, glancing down shyly, in case he'd done something wrong. "A picnic. There's a meteor shower tonight, and I thought this far from the city we should have a decent view, and I thought it might be nice, and I brought wine, and cheese and crackers, and snack packs, because I know you like snack packs, even though I think they're horrid, and I hope this is alright."

"Wes, breathe," Lindsey told him, stepping closer and taking Wes in his arms. He wrapped one arm around his back and the other around his neck and pulled him closer, pressing their bodies together, and whispered in his ear. "It's perfect."

Darla had been very much a queen, wanting to be waited on, and Fred had been so sweet and quiet and willing to let Lindsey take the lead, and he'd never had anyone actually take _him_ out before, and it was nice. He liked the idea that Wesley had been thinking of him, had planned this out, had wanted to impress him. And despite what he'd jokingly told Wesley a couple of minutes ago, Wes was damn close to getting lucky.

"Sit," Wesley suggested, and did so himself, opening up the bottle of wine and pouring each of them a glass, before opening up the container with the crackers and cheese, and carefully arranging two snack packs on the blanket, next to one spoon. "Wine?" he offered, and Lindsey took the cup from him, taking a sip and leaning back. He preferred beer, but this was nice.

They talked, laughed, sat close together, traded mostly innocent touches, and after three glasses of wine for Lindsey, and one glass of wine, and a bottle of water for Wesley, because he was driving, they found themselves lying down on the blanket, body parts sinking into the soft sand comfortably, and the later it got, the more meteors they were able to see. It was beautiful.

"Would you believe I've never actually seen one of these before?" Lindsey asked, eyes tracking bits of light across the sky. "I mean, I've seen shooting stars and shit, but it's never occurred to me to find out when they're comin' and go out just to look at them."

He'd been out with his momma a few times, back in Texas, and she'd pointed stuff out, taught him a little, but his friends here in California didn't really make a habit out of watching the sky, and since he'd moved here, he'd lost any interest he might have had. It was nice, though. Being here with Wes, relaxing and drinking cheap wine and eating chocolate pudding.

"Pretty, isn't it?" Wesley asked, and rolled over on his side, closer to Lindsey, so that he could nuzzle the crook of his neck and let his right hand wander across Lindsey's body.

"Mmmm," Lindsey agreed, and took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and pushed his hips up so that Wesley's light touch became harder, more prominent on his growing erection. "And the stars aren't bad either."

Wesley chuckled, low and deep, mumbling "lame", and climbed over Lindsey. He settled himself between Lindsey's legs and ground his pelvis against his boyfriend's, eyelids fluttering in pleasure as he felt the hard column of Lindsey's cock rub against his own, and covered Lindsey's mouth in an intense kiss.

"It's workin' isn't it?" Lindsey grinned, and wrapped his arms around Wesley pushing his groin up to meet Wesley's, the contact sending shivers up his spine. He tossed his head back, breaking the kiss, and gasped. Shit. He hadn't gotten the chance to finish jerking off earlier, and the low-lying lust hadn't ever gone away, and now Wesley on top of him, grinding against him, pulling his hair and tilting his head to the side and licking, slowly and carefully along his neck, and...

"Shit! Wes, you gotta stop," he panted, and shook his head, tying to blink himself back to normal.

Wesley pouted, adorably, but didn't stop moving, and licked across Lindsey's bottom lip before taking it between his teeth and pulling, just a bit. "How come?" he asked, when he let go, and thrust against Lindsey even harder.

Lindsey almost convulsed and tried to pull back from Wesley's touch, but he had nowhere to go, trapped between his lover and the sand. "Because I'm already way too worked up, and I'm gonna shoot all over my fucking pants if you keep... _fuck_! If you keep doing that."

Wesley only made the motions of his hips more pronounced, pushed his own denim-covered erection more surely against Lindsey's, drew the gliding pushes out longer, and leaned down to place his mouth over Lindsey's ear. "Maybe that's what I want, Lindsey," he said, nearly breathless himself, because right now, this, was for Lindsey's benefit, but that didn't mean that he wasn't getting off on it almost as much.

"Maybe I want you to lose so much control, to find me so irresistible, that you can't help but give in, to the pleasure, to me, to the thrill of knowing that someone could walk by at any moment and see us like this, and you won't care about anything but finding your release."

"Shit, Wes..." Lindsey said, wrapping his arms harder around Wesley and pulling him closer, so that there wasn't a millimetre separating them, anywhere, the only barrier created by their clothing, but Wes seemed to be getting off on that, and Lindsey couldn't argue that he wasn't, too. "Fuck..."

A few more upward thrusts, a few more carefully timed downward ones from Wesley, and Lindsey was shouting out his climax, trying to muffle the sound inside Wesley's mouth, and letting the last bits of cum dribble out on a few random jerks of his hips as Wesley's tongue swept across his teeth.

His body went limp and his arms dropped to his sides, and he thought the only way that could have possibly been better was if they'd been naked, and Wes was doing all that pushing and thrusting inside him.

As if reading his mind, Wesley finished up the kiss, smiling and sighing and letting his nose drift across Lindsey's cheek, and told him, "I took you out on a date Lindsey. I think it's time you put out, don't you?"

"God yes!" Lindsey vehemently agreed, and kissed Wesley one more time, hard a fast, before pushing him off, and doing his best to stand, not bothered in the least by the rapidly cooling wet patch on the front of his pants. "Take me home."

***

Wesley barely managed the drive back to Lindsey's house without shooting his own load, no thanks to Lindsey's not so subtle attempts to make him lose control. As soon as they'd gotten into the car, Lindsey's hand shot straight for Wesley's lap, and didn't let up in its kneading and caressing and shameless pumping until they pulled into Lindsey's driveway, and Wesley actually smacked him on the arm, and told him to cut it out.

The two of them barely made it upstairs to Lindsey's bedroom, saying a brief hello, as they entered the house, to Lindsey's stepmom, and a few of her friends, who appeared to be... having a séance? What the hell?... before they stripped each other out of their clothing, taking the time to kiss and lick and pinch and grab each bit of flesh that was bared to them.

They stood, on Lindsey's bedroom floor, next to his bed, arms around each other, roaming and exploring, as they kissed, and struggled for breath, and Lindsey fought not to give in first and tackle Wesley to the bed, begging to get fucked. He was going to play it cool, let Wesley set the pace and act like he was fine with it and not burning to be taken, to see the look on Wesley's face, to hear his cries of ecstasy when Wes was finally inside him.

But he wasn't going to beg. At least, not yet.

Wesley's hands seemed to get harder, suddenly, more commanding, holding Lindsey still, stopping his hips from pushing forward and nudging his renewed erection against Wes's, and he pulled his mouth back from Lindsey's collar bone, a wet slurping sound filling the room, and he lifted his head, tilted it up and whispered in Lindsey's ear, before biting the lobe, sharply.

"Lindsey?"

Lindsey jerked forward and clenched his teeth, hoping he didn't make a fool of himself and shoot his load again so soon. What the hell was wrong with him? It wasn't as if he'd never gotten laid before. Shit, he'd been with Wes three times already, and they'd all been phenomenal, but he'd never felt this on edge. He guessed it was probably due to the relatively new sensation of knowing he was going to get fucked, and he was excited and nervous and couldn't wait to get the fuck on with it.

"Yeah?"

"On your knees," Wesley ordered, voice husky and lustful, and Lindsey couldn't help but obey.

He collapsed to the floor in front of Wesley, legs giving out on him under the force of Wesley's look, and he stared up, waiting to be told what to do next, and wanting to smack himself in the face for not being able to figure it out on his own.

"Are you nervous?" Wesley asked, smiling and reaching down to cup Lindsey's face in one hand.

"Shut up," Lindsey told him, face turning sour and trying to hide the fact that he was, a little. He didn't pull away from Wesley's touch though, and that gave both of them confidence. "It's not like I've never had sex before."

"True," Wesley agreed, and let his thumb rub over Lindsey's jaw, messaging gently as his other hand grabbed his own cock, pumping slowly. "But you've never had a dick inside you Lindsey, as far as I know. Anywhere. And you're about to."

"Yeah, and it's about fuckin' time, baby," Lindsey said, posturing, and yet still so sweet and imploring that Wesley fell for him all over again. He was having a bit of a hard time, even after everything they'd been through, believing that someone as smart, and hot, and popular and kind and honest and just amazing as Lindsey was, would be interested in someone like him, would want someone like him.

And seeing Lindsey, on his knees, confirming exactly what he _did_ want gave Wesley a rush of power that he wouldn't have expected to feel with Lindsey, one that he'd rarely felt before with anyone, and he knew it was right, and it made sense, because Lindsey had that same power over him. And he was going to enjoy it.

"You want it, don't you?" Wesley teasingly asked, pushing forward just a little and letting the wet head of his cock brush against the side of Lindsey's jaw. "To taste me? To open your mouth and swallow me down? To make me feel as absolutely wonderful as I make you feel when _I_ suck _your_ dick?"

"Fuck, yes!" Lindsey moaned and the next thing he knew his mouth was stuffed full of cock, and it had happened so fast that he hadn't even really tasted it. He was about to complain, about the lack of taste, and the vague chocking feeling he was experiencing, and he would have panicked if he didn't trust Wesley so much, but then Wes pulled back, slowly, cock sliding over Lindsey's tongue, smearing tangy pre-cum on his taste-buds as it moved.

Wesley had been gripping his hair tightly, during that initial thrust, but he relaxed his grasp, let his fingers slide down and over his neck and set up an easy rhythm, fucking Lindsey's mouth soft and slow, head of his prick pushing just slightly against the back of Lindsey's throat at the peak of each movement.

He was taking his time, wasn't being rough or demanding, allowing Lindsey to participate as much or as little as he wanted, and Lindsey appreciated that. He wanted to participate, fuck, did he ever, but he'd never done this before and he was glad that Wesley wasn't trying to do too much, to take too much, too fast.

He'd touched Wes's dick before, a few times, while he'd been fucking him, or while they jerked each other off in the basement, and more than a few times he'd not so subtly rubbed him through his pants, in the car, or the hallway at school or sitting at the kitchen table. So he knew damn well by now what Wes liked, just how to touch him to make those adorable little wrinkles appear on his forehead when he was trying not to shout out his pleasure, and he knew how to take those touches a step further, so that Wesley couldn't hold back his cries anymore, couldn't control his body, was putty in Lindsey's hands. And Lindsey loved it.

And it wasn't like he'd never gotten head before, and he knew what _he_ liked, and he knew what he wanted to do to Wes, and the feeling, the taste, the smell of dick, and Wes, the heady knowledge that even though he was the one on his knees he was very much in control of Wesley's pleasure, drove up his own lust to the point that he wasn't able to stay still for long.

He started to open his mouth wider when Wes pushed forward, tightened his lips when he pulled back, swirling his tongue around the slippery tip when Wes was almost all the way out, and he was pretty damn proud of himself when Wesley faltered and jerked and swore.

Pretty soon Lindsey was holding Wesley's hips still, preventing him from moving at all while he sucked, as hard as he could, and swallowed around Wesley's hardness, and licked, strong, purposeful swipes along the prominent vein on the underside, and playful, tickling patterns over the tip, and neither of them was really sure how Lindsey had managed to take control of the situation so quickly, to turn things around, but neither of them was complaining, either.

Wesley tossed his head back and closed his eyes, neck turning to jelly in the face of the intensity of Lindsey's surprising talent. He should have expected his boyfriend to pick this up quickly, to dive in, head first, and show off just how very good he was, because that's what he did with everything, and from what he'd heard around school, Darla seemed to think that sex was no exception to that, and Wesley had first-hand knowledge confirming those rumours.

And this was... fuck, yeah.... this was great. Better than great, Lindsey's hot, wet mouth surrounding him, swallowing him down, worshiping him, Lindsey, on his knees, looking up at him through hooded lashes, smirking almost imperceptibly, trying to play the supplicant but not quite pulling it off, and Wesley was fast losing the battle with his body for control. A small snicker escaped him when he thought that Lindsey no doubt wanted it that way.

And he had no problem giving him what he wanted. He snapped his eyes open, looking down at Lindsey, managed a deep, stuttering breath before his hands clenched down tightly on Lindsey's shoulders, and he began to move, quickly, and powerfully, and unable to hold back, just like he knew Lindsey wanted, and damn, did Lindsey ever look fantastic, and fuck, he'd just about never felt anything so amazing, and...

"Shit! Lindsey!" he cried, fingernails digging painfully into the soft flesh of Lindsey's shoulders. "Fuck, just like that! Open wider... Yes!" And just before he lost it, he grabbed Lindsey's head hard, between his hands, and yanked him back, pulling free of his mouth, and grabbed himself, fingers wrapped around his spurting dick and aiming thick, milky strands of ejaculate across Lindsey's cheek, and jaw, and lips.

He tried to catch his breath, tried not to pass out on the spot from just how utterly phenomenal he was feeling, because he still had a little something he wanted to give to Lindsey, and with the way Lindsey was looking, feeling, sounding, Wesley didn't think it would really be a problem to get himself right back into the game.

He couldn't stand anymore though, legs giving out under him, and he sunk down in front of Lindsey, one arm around his back, fingers splayed over his bare ass, and the other behind his head, tickling the short hairs at the base of his neck before cupping his skull, and yanking him forward.

Fuck, he looked amazing like that, eyes half closed and mouth open and willing to be pushed or pulled any way Wesley wanted, with Wesley's spend dripping down the side of his face.

Lindsey let himself be pulled, went willingly and didn't complain, didn't even twitch, when Wesley swooped toward him and darted his tongue out, sticking it to Lindsey's chin and carefully, slowly, licking across and up, collecting the remnants of his own orgasm on his tongue.

Lindsey panted and unconsciously pushed his entire body forward and when Wesley pulled back, he groaned, feeling empty, lost. He didn't feel that way for long though, as Wesley looked at him, eyes blazing with lust and something that looked suspiciously like love, and even though Lindsey might have been starting to feel the same way, it scared him.

Wesley ducked forward then, and chased Lindsey's lips with his own, teasing them gently until they opened, and then delving his tongue inside, unrolling it and depositing his seed onto Lindsey's tongue.

Lindsey hesitated at first, not sure what to do with it, because he'd never even tasted his own cum before, let alone some other guys, but as Wesley's tongue began to move, to coax his own, he began to relax, and breathe and move and he remembered that he'd been wanting to taste Wesley for a very long time now, and he did.

He sucked in the flavour, the liquid flowing over his tongue, across his mouth, his teeth, and he savoured it. He'd always thought the idea of liking the taste of someone's jizz was kind of gross, but damn did he ever know better now. And when Wesley licked up the rest of the mess he'd made on his face and pushed it back into his mouth, Lidsey accepted it eagerly, swallowing every last drop he could and chasing the flavour with Wesley's tongue.

Damn. He'd figured, after their first time together, that Wesley wasn't as straight-laced as most people thought, but the more they were together the more he was learning how very true that was. He could be cocky, commanding, and a little bit freaky, if he was with someone he trusted enough to be himself around, and Lindsey was loving it.

"Shit, baby," Lindsey said, breathing heavy and kissing Wesley relentlessly, desperate for more of the intense taste. "I could do that all fuckin' night, but there's a little somethin' I want more, just now."

"I'm glad to hear that, Lindsey," Wesley said, voice impressively even. "But I wouldn't care if you wanted it or not, I'd give it to you regardless." It wasn't true, they both knew that, but Wesley was almost past the point of control, and he really, really wanted to fuck Lindsey, and he was beyond pleased that Lindsey wanted it too.

"Yeah," Lindsey snorted, reaching his hand forward and grabbing Wesley's flaccid dick. "I can see you're just rarin' to go."

"Have you seen yourself?" Wesley asked, pushing his soft penis further into Lindsey's hand. He pushed and pulled a couple of times and he shivered and jerked and squeezed his eyes shut as he felt himself begin to harden again, already. "I could have a bloody marathon session with Orlando Bloom, and I'd still be just as ready after a minute near you. Fuck, Lindsey, what you do to me…"

"Baby, I'm more concerned about what _you're_ gonna be doin' to _me_, and I'm even more concerned that you might not be able to," he said, smirking at Wesley's still-not-quite-hard cock, and laughing when he squealed and jumped back.

"You want to get fucked, Lindsey?" Wesley asked, his breathing returning to normal. He didn't wait for an answer, didn't need one, and he stood up, taking Lindsey with him with two strong hands on his elbows, and tossed him to the bed, following shortly after. "That's _really_ not going to be a problem."

He climbed on top of Lindsey, nestling one of his legs between his lover's, thigh pressing up against his balls, and began to rub himself against Lindsey's hip, breath coming out in tiny gasps as his oversensitive cock filled again. Lindsey moaned and wriggled against Wesley and pulled him down pressing their lips together fiercely.

Lindsey was ready. He was _so_ ready. He was way past ready, and he thought that he was going to kill Wesley if he didn't get to the good part soon, not that it wasn't all good. But a few minutes of intense grinding and powerful kissing later, and Wesley pulled back enough to gently roll him over onto his front and rubbed a hand over his ass, Lindsey was scared.

He wasn't having doubts, he knew he wanted this, and he couldn't even imagine what he would be scared of, because it wasn't the fact that he was turning gay – he'd gotten past that, or thought he had – and he didn't think it was the idea that it would hurt, because he knew Wesley would go slow, make it good for him.

Maybe it was the idea of giving up control? Then again, he hadn't ever had much of that with Darla and it had never bothered him. He had a thing for being dominated on occasion, not that he'd indulged in it much, but Darla had been more than willing to help him out, and so far Wesley hadn't really had a problem taking the lead in their relationship when he knew it was what Lindsey needed.

But the fear didn't last long before turning into nervous excitement, and he happily lifted his hips a little, kneeling, and balancing on his forearms when Wes prompted him to do so.

Looking at Lindsey, naked, on the bed, bent over at the waist and just waiting to take Wesley in, was a sight that Wesley, in all his days, would never forget. The boy was… amazing. Gorgeous and built and terrific in bed, smart and funny and kind, if a bit of a smartass. He was… Lindsey. And Wesley loved him. And even now that they were a couple, that they'd already had sex, that Lindsey looked at him and smiled and the world stopped existing but for the two of them when Lindsey kissed him like he loved him back, Wesley almost couldn't believe that this was about to happen.

It was a damn good thing he already came all over Lindsey's face because if he hadn't spent so recently he'd been doing it now, before he was even inside him. He wrapped his fingers around his pulsing erection, squeezing hard and taking a deep breath, reminding himself to go slowly, no matter how excited he was, because this was Lindsey's first time and the last thing he'd ever want to do was hurt him.

"You waiting for a written invitation?" Lindsey asked shakily, after several long seconds of stillness and silence. He needed Wesley to touch him, to take him, to make him feel good and warm and safe, and all this nothing was seriously taking away from the excitement and upping the nerves. "Don't make me beg, baby."

A bolt of lust shot straight through Wesley's cock at the words, and he thought seriously of making him do just that. It had sounded so pretty the last time Lindsey had begged him, and even though he'd done it grudgingly, Wesley suspected he'd rather enjoyed it, too. But there would be plenty of time to indulge in that sort of thing later. This time Wesley just wanted to make love to Lindsey, slowly and sweetly and without any games.

He moved forward slightly, draping his body over Lindsey's, hands rubbing along Lindsey's sides, arms, chest, stopping to pay particular attention to Lindsey's nipples, chuckling and nipping Lindsey's earlobe when Lindsey swore and jerked back, nudging Wesley's cock between his ass cheeks.

"Relax sweetheart," Wesley whispered, wiggling his pelvis a little bit, and sliding his hard-on along Lindsey's crack. "I'm not going to hurt you." He moved one hand down to Lindsey's dick, stroking it a few times, languidly.

"Not unless I ask you nicely, huh?" Lindsey rasped out with a snort. "I know you won't, Wes."

Wesley traced a random pattern on the back of Lindsey's neck with his tongue, and flicked his thumb over the head of Lindsey's penis before he knelt up straight, turning to pick up a condom and a tube of lubricant from the table next to the bed. Wesley had known they were there, had brought them and put them there the first time they'd had sex in Lindsey's room.

He quickly tore the foil wrapper and slid the condom down over himself before squirting out some of the lubricant onto the fingers of his right hand. With his left hand he reached forward and palmed Lindsey's rounded flesh, gently squeezing, letting him know that he was about to start.

"Lindsey, darling," he said, and gulped, right hand almost shaking as it moved closer to its goal. "I want you so fucking bad I think I might be crazy with it."

Lindsey felt Wesley's fingers, cool and slippery and sure, move softly over his pucker, and he sucked in a sharp breath when one dipped inside, up to the first knuckle, then the second, and began to move, circling, stretching him. Wesley had done this to him before, but he hadn't been expecting it, there hadn't been this kind of anticipation, and it hadn't gone any further.

It had been nice, he remembered, and when Wesley's left hand moved from his ass, up his back and between his shoulders, pressing him down, and slid a second finger in to join the first, both nudging that little spot that made him want to pull away and press into it and shoot his load all over his sheets, he remembered that it had been _really_ nice.

Oh, shit, nice didn't even close to cover it, and by the time Wesley had three fingers inside him, what felt like an hour later, and might have been, all pushing and wiggling and pumping, he was about ready to do some of that begging he'd asked Wes not to make him do. Sure it had hurt, at first, still kind of did, but Wesley had _really_ been taking his time, and the pleasure was tipping the scale.

"Wes," he panted, pushing back onto Wesley's fingers and rubbing the tip of his cock against his sheets, trying to get some friction. He needed Wesley inside him, he needed to come, and soon. "I'm ready babe. Shit. I need you."

That had been what Wesley was waiting for. He immediately withdrew his hand and gripped Lindsey's hip with the dry one, holding him still, while he guided himself inside with the other.

He went slowly, torturing both of them, he was fairly certain, and he didn't really think Lindsey needed it to be quite this gentle after the good fingering he'd just received, but better safe than sorry, Wesley usually thought.

It hurt a little, but it was nowhere near as bad as Lindsey had feared it would be, and he was glad that Wesley had bothered to prepare him so well. And then, it was _soooo_ good.

Once he was inside, once they were both moving, Wesley thrusting forward and Lindsey slamming his hips back, once they there both trying to get Wesley in harder and faster and deeper, and they were moaning and shouting and Wesley was hammering Lindsey's sweet spot with every other stroke and desperately stripping Lindsey's cock, it didn't last long.

Wesley finished with a silent cry, filling the condom inside Lindsey, and Lindsey followed shortly after, swearing at how good it felt and how much it burned, and telling Wesley how fuckin' much he loved getting fucked, and making a mess of his sheets, and Wesley's hand.

Wesley rolled over and pulled Lindsey with him so they were lying side by side, on their backs, sated and happy, but when Lindsey moved to kiss him, Wesley grinned and shook his head. Lindsey frowned for a moment, until Wesley lifted up his hand, the one he'd been using to jerk Lindsey off, and brought it to his mouth, looking at Lindsey with mischievous eyes and very slowly, very seductively, licked up every last drop of Lindsey's essence from his fingers.

"Shit…" Lindsey said, mesmerised, and he willingly opened his mouth when Wesley pulled him close, running his tongue over Lindsey's lips, teeth, tongue and allowing Lindsey to share the flavour with him.

"You taste amazing," Wesley told him when they'd finished.

Lindsey swallowed and stared at Wesley's mouth for a few seconds longer, unable to believe that this was the same boy he'd thought was such a tight-assed little nerd only a few months ago. He chuckled and fell back onto his pillow, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Jesus Christ," he mumbled. "Where the hell did you learn shit like that? And if you say 'Andrew' I'm gonna throw up."

Wesley laughed and dropped a sweet kiss on Lindsey's nose before taking off his used condom and tossing it in the bin next to the bed. "I'll just keep my mouth shut then, will I?" He put his head down next to Lindsey's and curled around him, resting his chin on Lindsey's shoulder, arm around his waist and leg draped over his legs. "Was that… alright?" he asked, sounding small and unsure. He thought it had been. Hell, he thought it had been earth-shatteringly fantastic, but he knew he hadn't lasted as long as he would have liked, and he hoped that Lindsey had enjoyed it, too.

Lindsey turned and kissed Wesley on the forehead and held the side of his head in his hand, thumb gently caressing Wesley's temple, and fingers carding through his short hair. "More than," he said, and thinking seriously that he'd never felt quite this happy. He didn't know how it happened, but somehow over the course of the fall semester, one of the biggest nerds in school had managed to win his heart.

"Can you stay here? For the night?" he asked, feeling stupid about it, because they'd already had sex, and he was pretty much asking Wesley to cuddle him, sleep beside him, wake up next to him in the morning, and sure, he was gay now, but when exactly had he turned into a chick?

"Of course," Wesley answered with a smile and they were quiet, trading soft touches and sleepy kisses until exhaustion took over, pulling them into happy unconsciousness.

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Exam week was a fairly quiet one for everyone. Mostly they studied, even Lindsey, and as he predicted he would, he aced each and every one of his exams, and as soon as the end of term report came out, his daddy would think he was smart again, and set up a summer internship for him at Wolfram and Hart.

Not that he wanted to work there, for the summer, or after college like his daddy expected, but he had to do something with his life, and he didn't think sponging off his old man and playing in Angel's garage for the rest of his life was really an option.

No, being a lawyer wouldn't be all bad; he'd make lots of his own money, and he'd get to show off how smart he really was, and he did kind of get off on the idea of people watching him argue, watching him win, and he knew he'd be good at it.

He just hoped that living, working, going to school, in LA wouldn't be too hard on him and Wes. He knew his boyfriend planned to stay in town and go to UC Sunnydale, with Spike, which Lindsey thought was stupid, because Wes was smart, and his dad had money, and he could go anywhere he wanted. Then again, Sunnydale to LA had a better shot at working out than LA to Ithaca, or Cambridge, or Providence, or... shit if he went back to England, and Lindsey was happy about that.

Wesley didn't have to cram quite as intensely as Lindsey did during the week. He'd paid more attention throughout the semester and had done all of his homework assignments, so when exams rolled around he already knew all he needed to know, and only studied to refresh him memory. He did rather well, too.

College applications would be sent out soon, and he'd applied to several, but he already knew he was staying in Sunnydale. He liked it there, the university was actually a very decent one, even though it didn't have the reputation of some others, but Wesley thought that most of those schools were highly overrated.

No, UC Sunnydale was a good school, with an excellent history department, run by professor Giles, a world class archaeologist, and though Wesley wasn't entirely sure what he had planned for life after college, that sounded like something he could be very interested in.

And Sunnydale was close to Los Angeles, close to Lindsey, and he knew it was stupid to make those kinds of decisions based on someone you'd only been dating a few weeks, but that wasn't what he was doing. He'd planned to stay in town before he'd gotten together with Lindsey, and it was just a happy coincidence that they'd be close to each other.

Also, he was very much looking forward to going to college with Spike.

***

Friday night, Spike and Wesley decided to throw a party. Not that they didn't almost every weekend, because they were in high school, and lived in a relatively small town, and really, what else was there to do? But this time they had a reason. Exams were over, Christmas break had started, they had almost three weeks off school, starting tomorrow, and after a week of stress and studying and seclusion, they could all use an excuse to blow off a little steam.

"You two look... cozy," Gunn shouted over the music as he came to stand beside Wesley and Lindsey, arms around each other, smiling and sharing occasional kisses and leaning against the wall, watching and listening to _Hellomouth_ completely murder AC/DC's _Mistress for Christmas_.

Wesley turned to look at the large, black boy, unable to suppress the euphoria he was feeling. He was with Lindsey. Finally. And Lindsey wanted to be with him, really liked him, and they were having sex, and dating, and everyone knew, and nobody cared, except for the people that thought it was great, or the people they didn't care about, and they could show their affection, freely, and it had been a while since Wesley had that with someone.

"Yes, thank you," Wesley told him, and almost didn't even notice when Gunn rolled his eyes. "So, what do you think?" Wesley asked, nodding toward the corner where _Hellmouth_ was playing.

"What do you mean, 'what do I think'." Gunn asked, looking at the band and screwing up his face. "Same thing I always think. They suck."

"I meant," Wesley said, shivering as Lindsey's hand slid a little lower on his hip. "What do you think about Faith? She looks rather beautiful tonight, don't you think?"

"Dude, she always looks beautiful," Gunn said, shaking his head. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"I think she might appreciate it if you told her that," Wesley said, and apparently Gunn was dismissed, because he turned back to Lindsey with a silly grin, and captured his lips in a heated kiss.

"Tryin' to play matchmaker, are ya?" Lindsey asked, when Gunn had wandered off.

"It's obvious they're into each other. And they deserve to be happy."

"Yeah, and the rest of us deserve to not have to listen to this crap anymore," Lindsey said, nodding at the band and making a face of disgust. "Seriously, why do they even play, when they're so bad?"

"They are not," Wesley protested, shoving Lindsey a little with his shoulder. "They're great. One of the best bands I've ever heard." As serious as Wesley was trying to sound, he couldn't manage to keep his face entirely straight, and Lindsey snorted, and bit his lip, almost hard enough to hurt.

"Shut up," he said, without much force, and pulled Wesley closer.

"Mmmm," Wesley continued. "They're terrific. Especially Spike. He's so talented and handsome and ever so dreamy...." Wesley exaggerated a sigh and placed a hand over his heart, staring at Spike with a goofy look.

"Well, you obviously have shit taste," Lindsey groused, trying to hide his smile.

"Says my boyfriend."

"Damn right I am," Lindsey said, and kissed Wesley, hard and fast, as if he were trying to prove a point. "So maybe it's time you stopped checkin' out other guys."

"But you're so adorably irresistible when you get all possessive," Wesley told him, not-so-casually rubbing against him.

"Yeah, I'm gonna be adorably kickin' your ass if you don't cut it out," Lindsey warned, but he let his eyes drift shut for a moment, and moaned, belying his feeble threat, as Wesley worked a leg between his and over his rapidly hardening dick.

"You'll be adorably begging me, Lindsey, later on tonight," Wesley whispered into his ear, teeth closing gently over the lobe. "Begging me to give you what nobody else ever has, what you crave. Begging for my cock."

Lindsey moaned a jerked his hips forward, tugging unintentionally on Wesley's short hair.

"Feel free to start now," Wesley said with a smug smile and stepped back a little. They were in a room full of people after all, and Wesley had well and truly learned his lesson about letting things go too far in public.

Lindsey swallowed and blinked and when he managed to regain some conscious thought, scowled. "I need another drink," he said, and walked off toward the kitchen, and the fridge. _Yeah, another drink, and maybe to hang out with someone I don't want to bend over for, for a while_.

***

Lindsey ran into Fred, and that was a little better, and turned out to be much less awkward than he'd thought it would, after that night at the movies. They talked about exams and how well they both did, and what their plans for the summer were, and they talked about Spike.

How Fred loved him, and how Lindsey thought she was making a mistake, and about how that didn't matter, because even though she appreciated Lindsey's opinion, he really didn't understand how absolutely amazing Spike could be. To her, anyway.

They talked about Wesley, and how that whole thing had been difficult for Lindsey and how he'd tried to fight it, but how Fred had known all along, somehow, and had been hurt, but had understood, and had moved on, because it would have hurt more to try to hang onto something that she ultimately couldn't have.

They talked about how happy they both were, and how much they missed each other, and they both wished, just for a second, under the influence of several drinks and sexual desire for other people that had to wait until later, that Lindsey hadn't turned out to be gay.

And around the corner, in the dimly lit hallway that led to the washroom, they kissed.

Real and deep and passionate, if not lustful, and trying to say everything with their bodies that they'd just said with words and both of them were panting and momentarily confused, and slightly ashamed as Anya walked by and frowned at them.

"Wesley and Spike are my friends," she informed them, as if they didn't know that. "And if the two of you are playing some sort of sick game with them..."

"No!" Fred shouted, waving her arms around and moving a step back from Lindsey. "No, we're not. We swear."

Anya narrowed her eyes and looked between the two of them. "I'm fairly certain that if you're in a relationship with someone, you're only supposed to make out at parties with them. And thank God Xander's going to be back in a few days," she added, fed up that everybody seemed to be making out with someone lately but her.

"We weren't...." Lindsey started, and sighed. "It was nothing, Anya. Just a slip. I want to be with Wes. Trust me. And, crazy as she probably is, Fred wants Spike."

"I don't want to see my friends get hurt," Anya said, sternly.

"They won't," Lindsey told her, face serious and hoping she would understand. _As long as you don't say anything._

"Well, the two of you should stop having sexual intercourse immediately. It's not right."

"We're not having..." Fred started, almost panicking.

"Nothing's going on," Lindsey reiterated. "And Anya, please... don't mention this."

For a minute she looked like she might run off and tell as many people as she could find, but she eventually nodded. "Fine," she said, with not a little exasperation. "But next time I catch the two of you with your tongues in each other's mouths, I'm not going to keep my mouth shut."

"There won't be..." Fred started, but again Lindsey cut her off.

"Thanks, Anya," he said, and smiled at her, and she walked off, frowning.

"She was right," Fred said. "That shouldn't have happened."

"I know," Lindsey agreed.

"I mean, we parted on such good terms, and we both found someone who we really want to be with, and what the hell were we thinkin' risking all that for... Sorry. It's just that... we were so good, for a while, and I wasn't thinkin' straight, and I just... missed you."

Lindsey snickered at that. "Me too. But we're both happier like this, and wishing we could feel different isn't gonna help any."

"You don't, do you?" she asked. "Wish you could feel different?"

"No," Lindsey said, without hesitation. "No, I really don't."

Neither did Fred, and they laughed, and hugged awkwardly, and wandered off to mingle, feeling somehow better about things between them.

***

"So, you're here with Andrew, eh?" Wesley asked, downing his third shot of Jack since he'd started talking with Connor. They were sitting together on the floor, backs against the wall next to Spike's bed, and it was getting very late.

"Yeah," Connor agreed, taking a tiny sip out of his own shot glass. He hadn't even finished one in the time Wesley had drank three, and he thought about telling Wes to slow down a little, because he was well on his way to being well and truly pissed.

"That's..." Wesley started and poured himself another shot from the bottle he'd stolen from under Spike's bed. "Good," he managed. "Andrew's good. He was... good." What the hell was wrong with him? Andrew had dumped him a long time ago, and he was very, very much invested in Lindsey, and sure, Connor was cute, and accommodating, but there was no reason, at all, that he should even be thinking about Connor and Andrew. Not one.

"Wes..." Connor said, taking Wesley's fifth shot and putting it down on the floor in front of them. "Does it bother you?"

"What?" Wesley asked, making a severe sort of face. "No!" he answered, much too enthusiastically and picked up his glass, downing the drink and pouring himself another.

"It's okay if it does," Connor said.

"Well, it doesn't." Wesley was so cute when he was drunk and petulant like this, Connor thought.

"Because that's why I did it," Connor admitted. "To bother you." Something like that, anyway. Connor wasn't sure exactly what he'd wanted to accomplish by bringing Andrew. Piss Wes off? Make him jealous? Show him he was moving on? Only he wasn't, and Wes didn't seem to care if he was, and Andrew was starting to get a bit too clingy.

"What?"

"Andrew has been asking me out, and I never wanted to go, but... Sorry. I thought it might get your attention if I showed up here with him."

"Connor..." Wesley warned, and wobbled a bit, nearly crashing into Connor, even from his seated position as he reached for the bottle again.

"I know, I know," Connor said. He did know. He'd heard it so many times he was getting sick of it, and as much as he loved Wes, he thought he might punch him if he heard it again. "You're with Lindsey. You're happy. You just want to be my friend."

"You're a good friend, Connor," Wesley told him, letting the bottle fall between his knees, fingers going limp. "I like friends." He smiled and slumped over, resting most of his weight on the boy beside him, and felt his eyelids get very, very heavy.

It was late, past one in the morning, and he'd a spectacular amount to drink, and he had a feeling he was going to be crashing. Soon. "I like bed, too," he pointed out, quite happily, and then frowned, hoping that Connor didn't take that the wrong way.

"Yeah," Connor agreed, chuckling a little. "I think maybe we should get you there."

"Mmmm," Wesley hummed, absently, and didn't protest when Connor wrapped an arm around him and scooped him up off the floor, walking him in the direction of the stairs. "Oops!" he said, giggling madly when he tripped over a spot of carpet that was in no way extraordinary, and Connor just managed to keep him upright. "There's some gravity, right there," he whispered, pointing. "You'd best watch out."

"Think I got it, Wes," Connor told him, and held onto him even tighter as he ushered him up two flights of stairs and into his bedroom.

***

"Hey, have you guys seen Wes?" Lindsey asked Faith and Gunn and Anya a little after 1:30am. They were sitting around Spike's kitchen table playing a completely unsuccessful game of caps, flicking the little bits of metal off their own bottles of beer for an excuse to drink, because it seemed as if none of them was capable of making a decent shot.

"Hold your fucking bottle still, Ahn," Faith bitched as she aimed at the bottle of beer that Anya was unfairly spinning between her fingers. Faith changed her mind and, with a smirk, aimed for Anya's forehead, snapping her fingers and letting her cap fly.

"Ow!" Anya, laughed, brokenly, and rubbed her head where the jagged edge the steel disc connected. "Bitch."

"Drink," Faith ordered, smugly, as the cap fell from Anya's bottle to the floor as she sloshed it around, more concerned with her head than her beer.

"Uh," Lindsey said, a little louder. "Guys?"

"Oh, hey man," Gunn said, hiding his snicker and looking up as if he just realised Lindsey was there. "S'up?"

"I'm lookin' for Wes."

"Oh, uh..." Faith mumbled and busied herself with a drink as Gunn looked down, finding the top of the table very interesting.

"What?" Lindsey asked, wondering why they were acting sort of strange. Even for them. "What's going on?"

Faith and Gunn remained silent and Anya sighed, like it was some kind of burden that she had to speak. "Neither of them wants to tell you that Wesley went upstairs half an hour ago with Connor, and neither of them came back down."

"He what?" Lindsey asked, stomach suddenly feeling like it was filled with rocks. "Did he say anything to you guys?"

"Didn't say anythin' man," Gunn said. "He could barely stand. Was hangin' off Connor all the way up the stairs."

"Yo, it's not what you're thinkin'," Faith said, shaking her head. "No way in hell would Wes..."

"What?" Anya interrupted. "Have sex with Connor? No," she rolled her eyes and finished sarcastically, "That doesn't sound like something he'd do at all."

"Faith's right," Gunn said. "Wes ain't no cheater."

"You're probably right," Anya agreed, in that way of hers that made impossible to tell if she was being serious or not, and turned to look at Lindsey. "Still, if it were _my_ boyfriend upstairs with someone I know he enjoys having sex with, I wouldn't be down here talking to us."

"Yeah, I'll..." Lindsey said, trying to believe them, wanting to believe that Wes wouldn't do anything wrong, and wanting to get upstairs as fast as he could, just to make sure. "See you later."

***

"Why the hell am I so tired all of a sudden?" Wesley wondered out loud and stumbled toward his bed when Connor let go of him.

"Because," Connor said, looking behind him and closing the bedroom door. "You had like, four beers, and then six shots in less than an hour?"

"Oh, yes. That would do it." Wesley bumped into the foot of his bed and fell forward on it, laughing and crawling up it to lie down. "You know, I seem to recall thinking it was a good idea not to drink this much."

"You're probably right about that," Connor smiled, and had a hard time resisting the urge to climb in bed with Wesley and wrap his arms around him. God, he loved him. "And you should probably take your clothes off, if you're going to sleep. It's not gonna be too comfortable."

Wesley tried to stand, fell down, tried again, this time managing it, holding himself up with one hand on his dresser. He raised an eyebrow and slurred, "You just want to see me naked."

Connor snickered and shook his head. Even when he was drunk and pompous, Wesley was adorable. And he was right. Of course Connor wanted to see him naked, but that honestly wasn't why he'd suggested Wesley take his clothes off. It really would be more comfortable.

"Don't flatter yourself," he said, with a smile. "I'm on a date tonight, remember?"

"Yes," Wesley said, trying to remain upright as he struggled with the buttons on his shirt. "With my ex-boyfriend, and only to get my attention. I do remember."

Connor stepped forward and batted Wesley's hands out of the way, working the buttons of his shirt through the holes for him, because Wesley clearly wasn't going to be able to get it done. Wesley jumped back and almost fell as Connor's fingers grazed over his skin, but Connor grabbed his arm and kept him balanced.

"I'm not trying anything, Wes," he promised. But he could, he was pretty sure, if he wanted to. Wes was drunk, and if Connor pressed him, he'd probably give in pretty quickly, and Connor was thinking he could get away with just about anything. Especially if the bulge in Wesley's pants that brushed up against Connor's hip when Connor wrestled Wesley's shirt off him and to the floor was anything to go by.

"Good," Wesley said, nodding, and managed to get his own pants unfastened and slid down his legs. Along with his underwear.

He blinked and looked down and looked back up at Connor, a little confused that he suddenly seemed to be naked, and glanced back down again at his very erect penis, and laughed. "Well, it seems as if little Wesley rather wishes you would try something."

Connor stepped back, needed to put some space between them, because he was trying to do the right thing here, and if Wesley was going to look like that and sound like that and say those kinds of things to him, he didn't think he'd be strong enough to stop himself from doing something very stupid. Again.

"You should get into bed," he said, with a shaky voice, and breathed a sigh of relief when Wesley nodded and yawned and crawled under the covers. He watched Wesley roll over to face the wall, blanket drooping down to expose his back and ass, and it wasn't long before his breathing evened out, and Connor thought he was asleep.

And then he couldn't help himself. He stripped off his own shirt and climbed into bed next to Wesley, pulling the blanket over himself and around both of their waists, and draped his arm over Wesley's chest, hugging him gently before releasing him and letting his fingers play over Wesley's bare skin.

He shouldn't be doing this. He was smart enough to know that it was a really bad idea, because Wesley didn't want him, and Wesley was drunk, and passed out, and he'd never let Connor do this if he was awake, and Connor was only torturing himself by getting this close, but he couldn't help it.

He wasn't going to do anything, just lay there with him, hold him. It was completely innocent, and he'd be gone long before Wes woke up and nobody would get hurt. It was fine.

And then Wes moaned, a distinctly pleasurable sound, and one of his hands covered Connor's, pushing it down his stomach and over his pelvis, settling on his prick and urging Connor to wrap his fingers around it, to stroke it.

Connor stopped. Stopped moving, stopped thinking, stopped breathing. And just as suddenly as he had stopped, he started, moving his hand over Wesley like he wanted to, like they both wanted him to and he pushed himself a bit closer to Wes, brushed his chest and groin and legs against the back of Wesley, and closed his eyes.

Oh God, this was so, so wrong. But Wesley seemed to want it, and though Connor really wished he could stop, Wesley's desire was his law, and he kept going, mouth moving ever closer to Wesley's neck, ghosting kisses over it and hoping that Wesley would end this and that he wouldn't.

"Oh, fuck," Wesley panted in a sleepy haze, and rocked his hips back against Connor's, hands still working together on Wesley's cock. "Lindsey..."

And Connor stopped again. Really stopped this time, and slowly removed his hand from Wesley's dick, placing it innocently on his leg, instead, forehead resting against Wesley's shoulder, and he tried not to cry.

_Lindsey_. Of course. Wesley was sleeping, or in some drunken stupor and clearly thought he was with his boyfriend, and yet again, Connor was being used for nothing more than convenience, and yet again, he was so close to not caring.

But he couldn't let it happen. It would be tantamount to abuse, to rape, and he wouldn't do that to Wesley, and he'd put up with a lot to be with Wes, but he didn't think he'd be able to recover from this if he let Wesley pretend he was someone else.

Wesley stumbled in his movements when he realised his boyfriend wasn't touching him anymore, and he frowned in confusion and began rocking slightly once more, grabbing for Lindsey's hand and trying to place it where he wanted it. "Lindsey," he moaned again. "Oh, God, fuck me."

And then the door opened.

***

Lindsey climbed the stairs from the basement to the main floor, crossed the house, and continued up the stairs to Wesley's room, telling himself the whole time that there was nothing to worry about, nothing was going on, but for some reason, not quite able to believe it.

He reached Wesley's bedroom door and took a breath, prepared to knock, but then decided against it. It wasn't like he wanted to catch Wesley doing whatever the hell it was he was doing, just... what if he was asleep? He didn't want to wake him up. So he took the doorknob in his hand and twisted, slowly, pushing the door open just a crack.

"_Oh, God, fuck me,"_ was the first thing he heard, in his boyfriend's voice, and he snarled and pushed the door wide open. He was greeted to sight of a very naked Wes and a very naked Connor, under the blankets on Wesley's bed, Connor behind Wes and his arms around him. And Wes really looked like he was having fun.

"What the _fuck_!?" Lindsey shouted, stepping into the room and slamming the door behind him.

Connor pulled back from Wes lightening fast and snapped his head around, looking into Lindsey's angry, hurt eyes, and he propped himself up slightly, thinking, for some reason, that this would go better if he was sitting. He was smart enough not to say anything.

Lindsey's shout pulled Wesley at least part of the way out of his slumber and he turned, confused, to the sound of his lover's voice. "Lindsey?" he asked, blinking and trying to wrap his head around the situation. "What are you doing all the way over there? And why do you look pissed off?"

He wasn't at all aware of the situation, only knew that he wanted Lindsey, needed Lindsey, to touch him, kiss him, hold him, and Lindsey was standing by the door, looking like he wanted to either kick Wesley's ass, or cry. Possibly both.

"Jeeze, Wes," Lindsey said, sarcastically. "You know, I would come over there with you, but three's a crowd, I think. Besides, you looked like you were havin' a pretty good time without me."

How the hell could Wesley have done this to him? It wasn't the first time he'd been cheated on, but he thought Wes would be different, thought they... Well, never mind. That was obviously only something he had felt, and Wesley clearly didn't give a shit about anything besides keeping himself satisfied.

Shit. He _so_ wasn't going to cry.

"Three... what...?" was all Wesley could get out before he sat up, blanket falling around his thighs and exposing a little more than Lindsey wanted to see at the moment. And then he noticed Connor, next to him, seemingly equally naked and in his bed, and Lindsey was standing across the room, and Wesley remembered, vaguely that he'd had quite a bit to drink, and Connor had helped him up bed and... no. _No_.

"No!" he said, shaking his head, and regretting it almost immediately as the room started to spin around him. Fuck. He placed his head in his hands for a second until the nausea passed and looked at Lindsey again. "No. This isn't..." And he looked at Connor, helplessly, silently begging for some support, because he hoped to God that it wasn't what it looked like, but he really couldn't remember.

"And yet," Lindsey said, smiling a cruel smile that he couldn't quite get behind. "It looks so much like it is."

"Lindsey no," Wesley desperately begged. "Please just..." Oh, crap. What the hell was going on? He honestly had no idea what had happened, and the way Lindsey looked... shit, he'd rather stick a knife in his own heart than be the cause of that look on Lindsey's face, and yet he was, and he felt tears prick his eyes, and he begged again. "Please."

"Please what, Wes?" Lindsey asked, doing his best to cover up his broken heart by being snide. "Please just don't mind while you fuck around? Fuck, Wes, I thought..." he trailed off and growled in frustration, smacking the back of the bedroom door, hard, with his hand. "Never mind. You were right before. This _was_ a mistake."

"God, no, Lindsey, please don't say that." Wesley couldn't hold back his tears at that, but he was thankful that only a few fell, and not the waterfall that he knew was lurking just behind his meagre control.

"Why not? Don't you want to be free to fuck whoever you want, whenever you want?" Lindsey asked, casting a hard glance at Connor, who had the decency to look away, and pretend he wasn't hearing what he was. It was incredibly uncomfortable for him, and he truly felt bad for Wesley, having to go through this, and he honestly hadn't intended for this to happen, but now that it had, he couldn't help but think that a wedge like this between Wes and his loser boyfriend could only be a good thing for him.

"No!" Wesley almost screamed. "I want _you_. That's all. I don't know what happened here, but... God, Lindsey, I'm sorry."

"Yeah," he said, bravado failing him as he deflated and let his true emotions show for a second or two. He hitched in a breath and blinked back his own tears and opened Wesley's door, stepping back. "Me too," he said, and closed the door behind him. And God was he ever sorry, because he really thought that it was going to be good, him and Wes, and that they had a real shot at being happy together, and tonight, Lindsey had planned to tell Wesley that he loved him.

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Wesley scrambled over Connor and out of the bed, faltering a couple of times as he lost his balance, and fighting the alcohol-induced nausea and dizziness. He finally reached the floor and started across the room to his bedroom door placing his hand on the doorknob, and starting to turn it.

"Wes, what are you doing?" Connor asked, urgently, getting out of the bed himself to stop him.

"I'm going after Lindsey!" he shouted, nearly hysterical. "He thinks... Oh God!" Wesley let out a sob and pulled the door open, taking a step out into the hallway before he was yanked back into his room by Connor, door slammed shut behind him.

"Wes, listen," Connor said, trying to sound steady and reasonable. "I know you're upset, but think about how Lindsey feels right now. I'm pretty sure the last thing he wants is for you to follow him, and try to explain what you were doing in bed with me."

Wesley did his best to glare at Connor, but his head was pounding and his stomach was roiling and he only managed a slightly pathetic narrowing of his eyebrows. He was wondering what the hell he had been doing in bed with Connor as well, because he was drunk off his ass, sure, but one thing he did remember was climbing into his bed _alone_. He was choosing to ignore the fact that that happened after Connor helped him out of his clothing.

"He's probably going to need some time," Connor continued. "If you go after him now, while you're both worked up, you won't get anything accomplished except yelling and accusing and making things worse." Connor had to wonder why on Earth he was giving Wesley this kind of advice, when he should be suggesting that he follow Lindsey, because Connor was right; if they talked about it now it would probably be worse for them, and wasn't that what Connor wanted?

"Besides," he said, waving a hand up and down Wesley's body. "You're naked."

Connor might be right, Wesley thought, though he wondered how things could possibly get any worse. And he was still drunk and could use some time to try to work out what exactly had been going on, so that he had something to tell Lindsey when they did speak, assuming that Lindsey would ever speak to him again, that was, and things would be easier tomorrow.

He walked back over to his bed, slowly and absently, thinking of nothing but what he was going to say, to do, to make up for this, how he was going to do anything, promise Lindsey _anything_ if he would just forgive him for this.

He sat down on the mattress, unconcerned about his state of undress, even in front of Connor, and placed his elbows on his knees, head cradled in his hands and wondered how he could have let this happen.

But... what _had_ happened? He remembered Connor helping him upstairs, undressing him. He remembered crawling into bed by himself. Okay, yes, he remembered being attracted to Connor and remembered that a certain part of him was interested in something sexual, but... No. There was absolutely no way that he would have... just no. He loved Lindsey, had wanted him for so long, and now that his dream had finally come true there was just no way that he would betray that, betray Lindsey and himself, for something he'd never really wanted in the first place.

He'd been sleeping. He'd been dreaming. He'd been with Lindsey, happy and warm and safe, and so very, very horny... and then he hadn't. Then he'd woken up, and Lindsey had hated him, and Connor was in bed with him, and he hated himself for letting whatever had happened, happen, even though he was pretty sure that he hadn't. Let anything happen.

Fuck, his head hurt.

Wesley snuck a glance at Connor, looking straight at him for perhaps the first time since Lindsey had walked in on them. The boy had his pants on, at least, so that lent credence to his 'nothing happened' theory.

Connor casually picked his t-shit up off the floor when he noticed Wesley looking at him, and slipped it on over his head. Shit. Wesley was feeling awful, and he wanted to help, and he wanted to tell Wesley to forget all about Lindsey because he wasn't worth it, and hope that Wes eventually got over it and realised how great Connor was and decided to be with him, and they'd both be happy and together and he'd forget all about Lindsey.

But he couldn't kid himself that that was actually going to happen, and as much as it killed him, he had to tell Wesley the truth.

"Nothing happened," he said, quietly, and wrapped his arms around himself.

Wesley's head shot up and his eyes locked on Connor's. "When you say that," Wesley started, managing to summon a great deal of his usual pomp and arrogance despite his feeble state. "I assume you mean that you weren't, in fact, in my bed, with your hand on my dick, and it was all a very vivid figment of our collective imaginations."

Connor sighed and sat down on the bed next to Wesley. "Nothing happened," he said again. "Not really. You fell asleep, I fell asleep next to you, I guess you were dreaming about Lindsey, and you thought I was him... But nothing happened."

"Nothing except you going along with it until my boyfriend walked in, and caught us?" Wesley asked, accusing.

"I wasn't..." Connor started, and sighed. "I got in bed with you, but I didn't try anything. You grabbed me, put my hand... anyway, I wouldn't have done it, and when you said _his_ name I stopped. And then he came in." Connor wished it hadn't gone that way, that Wesley had wanted to be with him, that he hadn't cared if Lindsey was on Wes's mind or in the room, but Wesley just looked so damned miserable.

"So you just thought it was a good idea to take advantage of me until someone else showed up? Great." Wesley knew that he wasn't being fair, that he was just as much to blame as Connor was for this most recent mess, if not more so. He was fuzzy on the details, and even though he was absolutely certain that he hadn't intended for anything to happen between him and the younger boy, he should have known.

Okay, maybe not known, but… Over the past couple of months he hadn't been able to get within three feet of the boy without _something_ happening, and he should have been more careful, should never have put himself in a situation where something _could_ happen.

"No. I didn't... Shit, Wes. I wanted to, okay? And when I thought you did, I... but I stopped, when I realised that you thought it was Lindsey the whole time, and really, nothing ever happened."

"Get out," Wesley said into his palms as he cradled his face in his hands again.

"What?"

"Get. Out." Wesley was trying this best not to get angry, but the idea that Connor had touched him, that Wesley had asked him to, that they'd both wanted it, even if Wesley had thought he was someone else – it hurt. It made Wesley feel terrible, made him hate himself and hate Connor, and he couldn't stand to look at him at the moment, couldn't stand to be near him.

"Alright," Connor said, standing up and taking a step back. He knew Wes was upset, and it wouldn't do any good to push. He would give him some time to cool off, then try again. "I'll go. But I swear, Wes. Nothing happened, and I wouldn't have let anything happen."

"GO!" Wesley shouted, nearly crying into his hands when he thought that Connor might not have let anything happen, but he'd implied that Wesley might have. No, he couldn't, wouldn't, and Connor obviously didn't know him very well if he thought that Wesley really wanted... No.

Wesley stared into his hands for a few more seconds and when he heard the snick of the door shutting, presumably behind Connor after he'd left, Wesley thought he was going to be sick.

***

_Hi, this is Lindsey. Sorry I can't take your call, but if you leave a message at the tone I'll call you back. Probably. Beep!_

"Lindsey? Hello. It's Wesley. I know that you... or rather what you saw must have... shit, Lindsey I need to talk to you about what happened. Please call me back. I'm sorry."

_Beep._

"Lindsey? I don't know if you got my last massage, but I really need to speak with you. I don't know what you saw when you walked in, but it wasn't what you thought, I promise, because I would never betray you like that. Ever. I just want to try to explain. Call me."

_Beep._

"Lindsey, I know you're probably screening your calls, and I really wish you would answer, or call me back, because I swear, I can explain what you saw the other night, and it wasn't what you were thinking. Honestly. I'm sorry."

_Beep._

"I'm not sure what good this'll do, but I'm sorry, Lindsey. Honestly. Nothing happened, not really. I need you to know that. I fucked up, certainly, and terribly, and I was so drunk that I didn't even realise that Connor was in my bed, not that that's an excuse, but... Please."

_Beep._

"Lindsey, I'm so, so sorry. God, I know you must hate me right now, but... I feel like I'm dying, knowing I hurt you. Please call me back, Lindsey. I... please."

_Beep._

"Even if you can't forgive me, Lindsey, even if it's over, please, call me. I need to... well, I guess I need you to understand what happened, what _didn't_ happen, and I need... Sorry. No, I shouldn't say that. What I need doesn't matter, because I hurt you. I didn't mean to, and I couldn't be more sorry, but I did. If... if you want to, if you think we can still... or even if you don't... I'm here."

_Beep. Beep._

Lindsey sighed and closed his eyes against the tears that were threatening to fall, and hit 7 on his cell phone to all delete all messages. There were more than just what he'd listened to, after turning it on for the first time in three days, but he'd heard enough. They were probably all from Wesley and he couldn't stand to listen to any more, couldn't stand to hear Wes's voice begging him hear him out, give him a chance.

He'd spent the last three days moping, not going out, not answering his phone, ignoring his friends and his parents and holed up in his basement, with nothing but the television and his video games to distract him from his troubles. It was pathetic. And it was Wesley's fault.

The stupid bastard had gone and done things to Lindsey, made him realise things that he'd tried to ignore, made him feel things that were new and scary and exciting, made him think he was falling in love, really falling in love, for the first time.

And then he... shit. It was the first time anybody had hurt Lindsey like this, and it was that much worse on him because it was Wesley. Wesley, who was so nice, and sweet and shy, who had adored him, or done a great job at pretending, and who had told him, _told him_, that there was nothing between him and Connor.

He'd lied.

And now he expected Lindsey to believe that there hadn't been anything going on, when he'd walked in and saw them, naked, with Wes moaning like a whore and Connor's hand on his crotch? Whatever. It looked pretty fuckin' much exactly like Wesley had been getting fucked, and if that's what he called 'nothing', Lindsey really didn't want to know what 'something' was.

He wished he could hate Wesley, and he did, a little, but not the real kind of hate that would get him through the hurt and then fade into indifference. No, it was the defence mechanism kind of hate, where he still cared for Wesley just as much as he had, and he wished he hadn't seen what he did, because he still wanted Wes, wanted to be with him, but he couldn't, not right now, because Wesley's betrayal had hurt, and he needed Wesley to hurt too.

He knew it was wrong, on a strictly intellectual level, to want to make someone you cared about miserable, but he was pissed off, and heartbroken, and if he wanted things to be alright between him and Wes again, and he did, then a distinctly _un_intelligent part of him needed to make Wesley feel as bad as he'd been feeling.

Ignoring his calls for a few days wasn't even close to good enough, but he thought of something that might be. Tomorrow night the kids from school were getting together out in Miller's Woods for the traditional Christmas blow-out, and just about everyone was going to be there, Wesley included probably, and Lindsey had an idea.

***

Wesley had been trying to talk to Lindsey since the party on Friday, apologising, trying to explain, begging Lindsey to forgive him, and Connor had been trying to call Wes for much the same reasons.

And just as Lindsey had been ignoring Wesley, deleting his massages, not answering his phone, not calling back, Wesley had been unwilling to talk to Connor about anything. It was unfair of him, he knew, and Connor must be finding this situation almost as difficult as he was, and it wasn't entirely Connor's fault, though if the boy hadn't gotten into bed with him, they wouldn't be in this situation.

The truth was, Wesley was just as much to blame, but it was a truth he'd rather not admit to, much happier to just put the whole thing on Connor and play the innocent, hoping that Lindsey would think that he hadn't fucked up spectacularly. But he had. He'd gotten drunk, he'd went upstairs with Connor, he'd taken his clothes off, flirted, and even though he hadn't intended for it to go any further than that, he'd ended up practically forcing Connor to jerk him off, and, he was pretty sure, begging to be fucked.

The fact that he'd thought it was Lindsey wasn't an excuse. He never should have gotten himself into that position in the first place. And he never would again. No, he was going to cut Connor out of his life, completely.

He didn't want to, and wished he didn't have to, because despite all the craziness, he did truly like Connor. Not nearly as much as Lindsey, of course, and it seemed that when Connor was around the only result was trouble, and Wesley wasn't willing to risk any more trouble. Not when he was hoping to get Lindsey back.

He refused to believe that things were over between them. Sure, they were extremely rocky, and Lindsey had every right to be pissed off, but Wesley loved him. And he knew that Lindsey cared for him too, and Wesley was sure that they would be able to work things out, given enough time and patience. And if he could just get Lindsey to sit down and listen to him.

Tomorrow night was the class Christmas party at Miller's Woods, and he knew Lindsey had planned on going, hoped he still would, because that would be the perfect opportunity to get him alone for a few minutes and grovel. And whatever else he had to do to get Lindsey to forgive him, and get them back to where they'd been four days ago.

***

Wednesday night, Wesley tagged along with Spike and Fred, hitching a ride with them in Spike's DeSotto. Spike had wisely not suggested they stop to pick up Connor, like they normally would have, and Wesley was silently grateful, even if he did feel like a third wheel stuck in the backseat by himself while Spike and Fred held hands and shot each other playful glances in the front.

Everyone else was planning on meeting them at the party, and when they showed up, a little after 10:30pm, they found Gunn's and Xander's cars parked side by side, with a dozen or so others, at the edge of the clearing where the party was set up.

Spike pulled up next to them and popped his trunk, opening up the cooler that was inside it and tossing a can of beer to everyone who wanted one. Anya grabbed the beer out of Xander's hand and passed it to Faith instead.

"Okaaaaay," Xander said, shrugging his entire body. "I didn't want one anyway."

"I don't want you getting drunk and passing out on me tonight, Xander," Anya told him, sternly, and poked him in the chest. "I haven't seen you in months and tonight, we're going leave early, go home, and have lots and lots of sex."

Xander turned a fairly deep shade of red that went mostly unnoticed in the dim light, provided mostly by flashlights, headlights, camping lanterns, and a rather large bonfire, and everyone else snickered and shook their heads.

"It's great to have you back, Xander," Wesley said, and popped the top on his beer. "How's your uncle?"

"Drunk," he answered, succinctly, and grabbed his beer back from Faith, taking a large swallow. "Rehab went about as well is it ever does. Not very."

"Yo dude, I'm not in rehab," Faith grumbled, reaching after the can. "Give me that."

"Don't worry about it, baby," Gunn murmured and smiled, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her against him. "You can share mine."

Faith smiled back and blushed and took the can he offered her, hiding her embarrassed look behind taking a drink.

"Awwww," Spike said. "Isn't that sweet? Faith and Gunn," he sing-songed, "sittin' in a tree," and shouted and jumped when Faith's boot connected solidly with his shin.

"Shut the hell up, blondie," Faith snarled, but her look softened when Gunn gently squeezed her shoulder and she relaxed back into him. Spike snickered and Faith narrowed her eyes at him. "Fuck off," she warned, but there wasn't much heat behind it.

They talked for almost an hour, shared a few more beers and eventually the group started to wander off, Xander and Anya heading home for all the sex they wanted to have, Faith and Gunn to go for a walk in the woods and spend some time alone, but not before Spike pulled Faith aside and whispered to her, seriously, that he was happy for her, and Wesley and Spike and Fred wandered over to the fire.

"What the hell is up with you?" Spike asked Wesley as they sat side by side on a blanket on the grass, with Fred between Spike's legs, back resting against his chest.

"Hm?" Wesley said, whipping his head around to look at Spike. He'd been scanning the crowd pretty intently, looking for any sign of Lindsey. He'd seen his truck, parked a significant ways into the forest, and barely visible through the trees, and he'd seen Oz and Doyle and Buffy, and he figured that Lindsey probably had to be around somewhere.

"You've been acting all...squirrelly ever since we got here. What's your problem?"

"You're lookin' for Lindsey, aren't ya?" Fred asked, with an understanding smile.

"I've got to talk to him," Wesley said, in agreement. "I thought maybe if he was here, I could get him to listen to me..."

"Wes," Spike said, hands rubbing up and down Fred's arms. "I know you're anxious to get this worked out, but if he doesn't want to see you, then ambushing him like this is only going to make things worse. Just give him time to come to you, if that's what he wants to do."

"And what if he doesn't?" Wesley asked, voice breaking on the words.

Spike lowered his gaze, staring absently at the grass by Fred's sneakered feet. That was a very real possibility, and certainly one that he thought Wesley might deserve. He'd heard about what had happened, and he'd had to seriously suppress the urge to tell Wesley 'I told you so' on the whole Connor front, but he'd kept his mouth shut.

Just like he would now. Wesley had fucked up. Not just the night of the party, but every time he'd been with Connor before that, leading him on, making him think he ever had a chance. And it had bit him in the ass.

But Wesley was his best friend, and he didn't want to be that honest, that mean, not when he knew Wesley couldn't handle it, so he said nothing, just tried to be there.

"I was gonna go hang out with those guys for a bit anyway," Fred said. She and Lindsey had broken up, but they were still friends… sort of. And all his friends were her friends, too. Besides, it was a pretty safe bet they'd gotten over most of the weirdness. "I'll talk to Lindsey, tell him you're lookin' for him."

"Thanks, Fred," Wesley smiled.

She turned her head back at Spike and kissed him, quickly, on the mouth. "You comin'?"

"Hmmm," he pretended to think. "Coming to hang out with Lindsey and Angel and their parade of losers? No thanks, pet. You have fun." The truth was, he really wouldn't have minded. Not that he liked to hang around Lindsey by any stretch of the imagination, but he found he didn't actively want to kick him in the nuts quite so much as he used to.

They'd managed to be in the same room for almost five hours last Saturday without killing each other, and he knew as long as they both mostly kept their mouths shut, they'd be mostly fine. But there was no way in hell he was leaving Wesley, sitting alone and miserable, at the biggest party of the year.

"You don't have to be so nasty about it," Fred frowned, and stood. "I wish you two would at least pretend to be nice to each other."

"Yeah, yeah," Spike said, and stood up after her. "I've heard it before. From the both of you," he said, shooting looks at both Fred and Wesley. "I'll play nice when he's around but don't expect me to like him. You go. Have fun," he said, and kissed her, much more thoroughly than she's just kissed him.

She stepped back, breathless and grinning and looked at Wesley, offering him a smile before turning back to Spike. "See you soon," she said, and headed over to where she could see Angel and Buffy sitting on the hood of Angel's car, with a few other friends nearby.

***

Lindsey hadn't been paying attention to much of the conversation since he'd gotten to the party. His attention had been occupied with looking for someone. Two someone's actually, and he'd spotted Wesley over an hour ago, saw him pull up with Spike and Fred, and had been watching him, on and off for much of that time.

The fact that Wesley looked miserable, drinking and talking with his friends, managing half smiles, and no-quite-laughs, that Lindsey could tell were forced, did nothing for his own mood. He thought he'd be glad to see proof that Wesley was feeling as terrible as he felt, but it just made it worse. He briefly entertained the idea of forgetting about it. He could just forget.

Forget that Wesley had cheated on him, had hurt him, forget about his stupid plan to get back at him, forget that anything was wrong between them, because for those few moments, all he wanted to do was go to him. Kiss him and hug him and make everything better. But this wasn't some cheesy romance novel, this was his life, his heart, and he wasn't going to be able to get over it that easily.

He didn't see Connor with them, and he was slightly surprised by that, but the kid turned up half an hour later with some other people from his class, and Lindsey was keeping a careful eye on him too. He hadn't even been over to talk to Wes or Spike or any of them, and Lindsey got the distinct impression that things were far from okay in that little part of Wesley's world. Good.

"Lindsey... Lindsey!" he heard Angel shout and turned to him, staring blankly.

"Man, what the fuck is wrong with you? We haven't seen you in days, and you show up here tonight, but you're God knows where." He hadn't been talking about anything important, usually wasn't, and he knew his friend was hurting, but he was trying to include him, trying to get his mind off Wesley, and what had happened with Connor, by talking about random, completely offensive things.

It wasn't that he was pissed off at Lindsey, though he knew it came across that way, but he _was_ pissed off. He wanted to fucking _kill_ Wesley, wanted to do anything to make Lindsey feel better, and he couldn't. He was helpless, impotent, and he hated it.

"Wouldn't fucking kill you to actually _talk_ to your friends, you know."

"Yeah," Lindsey said, still not really listening and taking the bottle of tequila out of Angel's hand. He drained a good quarter of it in one go before handing it back. Angel looked incredulous and Buffy laughed, but Lindsey didn't notice. "I gotta go," he said, and pushed himself off Angel's GTX and walked across the clearing to where Connor was sitting on a tree stump and sharing a cigarette with a young girl.

Fuck this was a stupid idea. He knew that, despite his anger and hurt at what Wesley had done, and he really didn't want to cause a scene. No, their problems had already been made too public after the party at Wes's place, and he didn't want to give people anything else to talk about. This had nothing to do with anybody but himself, Wes, and that fucking pain in the ass little jerk, but Connor was relatively alone at the moment, so he could probably talk to him without many people noticing.

"What an ass!" Angel complained, looking at his significantly lighter bottle of liquor.

"Oh, leave him alone," chided Buffy. "He's having a hard time. He just got cheated on. By a geek. He'll get over it, eventually, but he just needs some time to work it out."

Angel scowled, knowing that Buffy was right, and again wishing there was something he could do about it, and Oz watched Lindsey cross the field and stop in front of Connor. "You're probably right," he agreed. "I'm just worried about _how_ he's going to work it out."

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

"You shouldn't smoke," Lindsey said standing in front of Connor and his friend, (and now that he was closer he realised that it was Buffy's sister – what was her name?) and looking down at him. "I hear it's bad for you."

"Then I figured you'd be happy I was doing it," Connor snarled, and Lindsey chuckled mirthlessly.

"What the hell does Wesley see in you?"

"Hey!" the girl shouted, seemingly outraged and stood up, getting very close to Lindsey. "Connor's a great guy, and if your boyfriend likes him better than you, then maybe you should take that up with him, and leave Connor alone."

"Dawn, it's alright," Connor said, standing up and taking Dawn's arm, moving her back a little bit. "What the hell do you want?" he asked, looking at Lindsey and taking a drag from his cigarette, trying not to cough, and blowing the smoke in Lindsey's direction.

_I want to knock your damn block off_,_ you little shit,_ Lindsey thought. "Can you give us a minute?" he asked, not impolitely, of Dawn, but she just snorted and rolled her eyes and said "as if" in that typical Californian, teenage girl kind of way.

"It's okay," Connor said quietly. He didn't know what Lindsey wanted, but he was pretty sure that he wasn't in any danger. Lindsey, ass though he was, wasn't really the violent type, and if he wanted to talk, Connor could talk. "Promise. Just give us a couple of minutes, Dawn."

She sighed and threw her arms up in the air, shaking her head, as if she was doing Connor a huge favour. "Fine," she said. "But you come get me after."

"Yeah," he smiled at her, and watched her walk away. "So, what do you want?" he asked Lindsey again. "If it's to tell me to stay the hell away from Wes, you're a little late. He won't talk to me anyway."

"Good," Lindsey said. "But no, that's not it."

"So....?" Connor asked after a few seconds of silence. "What is it then?" If Lindsey had something to say, he'd hear it, but he didn't want to stand around all night staring at him.

Lindsey took a deep breath, and ran through his plan once more in his mind. And it was a dumbass plan, but he needed to see it though.

"Let's fuck," he said, bluntly, and looked Connor over, trying to tell himself that the kid wasn't that hard on the eyes, and it might even be fun.

He wasn't stupid enough to believe that doing this would solve anything, but the rational part of his mind wasn't exactly in control. He needed to make Wesley feel like he felt, even the score and make himself feel like less of a fool. Needed to get them on level ground, because he desperately wanted to be with Wesley, to get over this, and by his very nature he couldn't, not unless Wesley knew his pain. He ignored the part of his mind that told him this would achieve the exact opposite.

"Huh?" Connor squeaked, stepping back and looking at Lindsey as if he'd lost his mind.

"Wes keeps going back to you," Lindsey said, voice getting low and dangerous, and moving forward to close the space that Connor's step back had created between them. "There's gotta be a reason for it. I'd like to find out what it is."

"Seriously?" Connor asked incredulous. "You think I must be good in bed, because Wesley seems to like fucking me, and now you want a turn? You're fucking sick."

"You can't tell me there's a part of you that doesn't want to," Lindsey said, smugly. He wasn't under any delusions that Connor in any way had the hots for him, but Lindsey knew he was attractive and he knew that Connor must be just as angry with Wesley as he was.

"I hate you," Connor said, through clenched teeth. He really did, and yeah, Lindsey was really hot, and if Connor could remove his personality he'd have to admit that he'd very much want to have sex with him, but he couldn't, and just hearing Lindsey's name made him think of Wesley, and how hurt and angry he was about the whole fucking situation.

"Yeah, back at ya," Lindsey said. "Freak. Do you have any idea how pissed I am about what happened? How angry I am, at you... _him_? I really, really hate you."

Connor snickered and shook his head, and Lindsey got even angrier than thinking about Wes getting fucked by Connor was making him. "What the hell's so Goddamned funny?"

"This has nothing to do with me, and you sure as hell don't want to find out why Wes kept coming back. I'd be surprised if you could even get it up. This is all about Wes. You're pissed off at him, and want to teach him some kind of fucked up lesson."

Lindsey looked at him, hard, and thought about lying, thought about making something up, but the boy would see through it. He wasn't as stupid as Lindsey liked to think, but Lindsey had a feeling he wasn't all that moral, either. "Don't _you_?" he asked, completely disarming and honest, with a slight tilt of his head.

"I..." Connor started. Yeah, he did. He was pissed off at Wesley, for not speaking to him, for blaming him for everything, when Wesley had been just as culpable, for leading him on, using him, for loving Lindsey instead, and yeah, he wanted to get Wesley back for that.

But more importantly, he still loved Wesley, still wanted to be with him, and if Wesley found out that he'd fucked Lindsey... well, maybe that would take some of the shine off the other boy, and Wesley's infatuation might come down a few notches.

He nodded and closed his eyes briefly, and felt himself being yanked and pushed across the clearing, in the direction of Lindsey's truck, hidden in the trees.

"Hang on a sec," Lindsey hissed in his ear when they passed his friends, and he left Connor standing there while he walked over and talked to Oz.

"Give me fifteen minutes," he said, quiet enough that nobody else could hear. "Then tell Wesley I want to talk to him. I'll be in my truck."

"Lindsey, man," Oz said, shaking his head. "I think you're making a mistake."

"Just do it," Lindsey growled, and took off to rejoin Connor, shoving him over some fallen branches and not bothering to wait for him as he stumbled.

"What the hell is he doing?" asked Angel, when Lindsey walked away.

"Connor," Oz offered, and they stared after the other two boys as they disappeared into the dark.

A few minutes later Fred came by, all smiles and laughter and warm conversation. "Hey guys!" she greeted, and after an appropriate amount of small talk and catching up, "Where's Lindsey?"

"Uh..." Buffy started, not quite knowing how to tell her that her ex-boyfriend had moved onto his second guy since they'd split. Luckily Cordelia was there.

"He's off in the woods with Connor. I think they're trying to get over Wesley, not that that should take much."

"He what?!" Fred gasped. No. No no no no! This was bad!

Oz sighed and reached up to place a kiss on Doyle's cheek. "I gotta go talk to Wes," he said, and left to do that, disappointed in Lindsey for what he was doing, and for getting Oz involved in it.

***

Lindsey opened up the door to the flatbed of his truck and nodded toward it, waiting expectantly for Connor to climb up. He did, having serious second thoughts about this, but deciding he didn't have much to lose, and Lindsey jumped up after him.

It wasn't cold. It was California. But it was late in December and it wasn't exactly hot either, and Lindsey didn't think they needed to be naked for this anyway. As long as they got the appropriate parts exposed, and there was a blanket he kept in his truck that they could use to cover themselves so their dicks didn't freeze off, they should be able to get this done pretty comfortably.

"Pull down your pants," Lindsey instructed. "And bend over."

"Get real!" Connor said. "I'm not letting you fuck me."

"Why the hell do you think we're here?"

"You just said 'let's fuck'. If anyone is going to be fucking, it's gonna be me." There was no way Connor was bending over for Lindsey. No matter how badly he wanted to piss Wes off or get between the two of them. Wasn't going to happen.

"Come on kid," Lindsey shook his head and smiled, slightly. "You know that ain't gonna happen."

"Then nothing is."

Lindsey's smile grew and he knee-walked closer to Connor, wrapping an arm around him and grabbing his ass, hard, pulling the boy to him. "And you know that ain't true, either," he whispered into Connor's ear, and traced his tongue around the outside of it, delighting in the shiver of surrender that passed through him.

He thought this might turn out to be fun after all.

Connor let himself be touched, licked, nibbled, groped, and by the time Lindsey had unfastened his pants, taking his dick out and into his hand, Connor was panting and thrusting and embarrassingly hard. It was embarrassing because he didn't like Lindsey and he didn't want to be getting off on what he was doing, and he didn't want Lindsey to know that he was getting off on it, but he supposed that had been the point, and besides, much as he hated to admit it, but had already, several times that night, Lindsey was sex on legs, and Connor couldn't help himself.

And he couldn't help reciprocating. Being with Wesley those few times had taught him some things, but he wasn't all that experienced, and he hoped that he didn't come across like too much of a clueless dork.

He ran his teeth over Lindsey's neck, biting, as he worked one hand up under his shirt, pinching his nipples and taking great pleasure in the resulting jerks and gasps, and scraping his fingernails down the soft skin of Lindsey's chest and stomach.

"Fuck," Lindsey gasped, and bucked forward when Connor's hand drifted lower and settled over his groin, fingers closing and kneading over his hardening cock, and pushing Connor over when he laughed, apparently pretty pleased with himself that he was affecting Lindsey like he was.

He opened his jeans up, and took himself out, pumping a few times with his hand and grinning when Connor's eyes glazed over as he started at him, lustfully. He dropped himself down next to the boy and pulled his pants down further, down to his knees, and spent a good deal of time working him with his hand, sliding it up and along his erection, fingers playing over his balls.

Fuck but the kid was responsive, even though Lindsey could tell he didn't want to be, and that was an even bigger turn-on. There was a reason he was doing this. A completely fucked up reason that he'd honestly rather have forgotten, but that didn't mean he wasn't enjoying himself, just a little, and he felt sick.

Once Connor seemed lost enough, when he was babbling and groaning and moving his hips shamelessly, Lindsey flipped him over, covered his body with his own, and pulled the blanket over them. His hand rubbed over Connor's ass, kneading the cheeks and pulling them apart slightly, and he took himself in one hand, guiding his hard, leaking cock to Connor's hole.

This would teach Wesley. This would show him what it felt like to be betrayed, humiliated, to have his feelings disregarded and his heart broken. It was what he deserved. Only... it wasn't. At all. God, he loved Wesley. What was he doing with somebody else? With _this_ somebody else? He was a complete fuck-up.

And Connor didn't deserve to be used like this either, a random body in Lindsey's fucked up revenge gig, especially after everything that had happened between him and Wesley. Lindsey didn't know many of the details, Wesley hadn't told him, but he got the impression that Wesley had been more than a little unfair to the kid, and sure, Lindsey wanted to think he deserved it, but the truth was he probably didn't.

"Fuck!" Lindsey shouted and knelt up, pushing off Connor, and rolling the boy over so that he was looking up at him. "Fuck you!"

"What...? What the hell?" What had he just done? One second he's about to get fucked, and not as unhappy about it as he'd tried to pretend, and the next Lindsey's yelling at him and looking like he might cry.

This guy was seriously unbalanced. Wesley was better off without him.

"Why the fuck couldn't you have just left him alone?" Lindsey asked, not really expecting an answer. "He told you he didn't want you, you knew he was with me." He snorted and shook his head, somewhat maniacally. "And of course, he just falls into bed with you, every time. Can't stay away, even when he..."

"You're in love with him, aren't you?"

"Fuck you! You don't know a Goddamned thing about anything. This is all your fucking fault, anyway! Asshole." But it wasn't. Not really. He was part of it, sure, but Wesley had played his role, and Lindsey too, now.

Connor sat up then, quicker than Lindsey might have expected, and used that element of surprise so toss Lindsey down on the truck bed, on his back. "Shut up!" Connor ordered, low and threatening, and pinned Lindsey's body with his own. They were both still hard, and they both gasped and grunted as their cocks slid together before Connor grabbed Lindsey's wrists and tried to slam them down against the metal.

Lindsey stopped the motion easily and smirked at him, reversing their positions in a blink, and holding Connor down, arms beside his head, and the blanket tangled around them. Lindsey moved slightly, accidentally, the tip of his cock, slippery with pre-cum, sliding over Connor's and they both snapped open their eyes wide, and gasped.

Lust flared, Lindsey's eyes growing dark and determined and Connor tried to pull his arms away, tried to shake Lindsey off, and it only resulted in further contact, a greater need, that came from anger and fear and despair, and suddenly had very little to do with Wesley. Except in the way that he was responsible for them hating each other so much.

Lindsey gripped Connor's wrists tighter, the action no doubt resulting in some bruising.

"Get the fuck off me, you asshole!" Connor cried, pain in his wrists warring with the intense pleasure in his cock, as he pushed harder against Lindsey, belying his words. "I fucking hate you!"

Lindsey moaned and moved his hips in time with Connor's, sharp little thrusts to try to gain pleasure, sharp and intense. "God, I hate you too," Lindsey whispered in his ear, and Connor bit down hard on Lindsey's shoulder, leaving a satisfying mark.

Lindsey grunted at the pain but kept on moving against the boy, both of them getting closer. "It's so fucking unfair," he continued, voice breathy and harsh in Connor's ear, as they both worked toward a climax that they didn't even really want. They needed it though, now, the fucking almost like a physical fight between them, beating each other down with the unwanted pleasure of hard bodies and harsh kisses and violent thrusts.

"I do love him," Lindsey admitted, so quietly that Connor almost couldn't hear it over their vague panting and grunting. "And I know he loves me. You're nothing, Connor, you know that? To either of us." He dug his nails into Connor's wrists, and he the boy winced, but didn't stop, both of them only moments away from the end.

Connor wondered, if that was the truth, why Lindsey was doing this. If he was nothing, if neither of them cared, then why weren't they off somewhere together, happy and in love and not thinking of him at all? He knew it wasn't true. Knew Wesley cared for him, and Lindsey hated him for that, but he remained silent. It wouldn't do anyone any good to point that out.

"Shit," Lindsey panted, feeling his balls tighten just before his orgasm. "Shit, Connor, I'm so fucking sorry." And that was even quieter than his admission of love for Wesley. He _was_ sorry. Sorry that any of this had happened, sorry that Wesley had cheated on him, sorry that he'd done the same to Wesley, sorry that Connor was caught in the middle of it, had been used so callously, and most of all sorry that he hoped that he was right. Hoped that the kid meant nothing to Wesley and Wesley _did_ love him.

As soon as Connor felt Lindsey tense and still, felt the warm flood of his cum against his own cock, heard Lindsey's soft whisper of 'Wesley' in his ear, he wrestled his arms out of Lindsey's grasp and dug them into the older boy's biceps, hard, and thrust upward, rapidly, several times, holding his breath as orgasm overtook him, and he spilled over both of them, feeling relief, but even more than that, disgust. He should never have agreed to this.

Lindsey felt tears pricking his eyes as the sharp stab of pleasure came and went, palms pressed against the cold metal of the truck bed, and they both took several heavy breaths, preparing to move. And then they heard a strangled hiccup from behind them, and shot apart, spinning around to see who was there, Lindsey's heart plummeting into his stomach, because he thought he already knew, and he was regretting this plan more than anything else he'd ever regretted in his life.

Oz had found Wesley, told him that Lindsey was an asshole and didn't deserve someone like Wes, not when he was acting like such a jerk-off, and when Wesley asked him what was going on, Oz had only shaken his head and said, "Sorry, man," and walked off, leaving Wesley to go find Lindsey, to ask about what Oz had meant.

And when he'd got to the place in between trees, where he knew that Lindsey's truck was parked, he heard some mumbled cursing and rustling, saw the vague outline of two figures, wrestling in the back. He moved closer and the distant light from the fire illuminated them ever so slightly, and he was just able to make out the distinct features of Lindsey, holding someone down, holding... Connor down, under a blanket, and...

He watched, silently, helplessly, for almost a minute, and he wanted to throw up, and he wanted to scream at them and tell them to stop, and he wanted to be the one that Lindsey was fucking, and he wanted to hide, and never, ever come out, and he wanted to kill them.

But he just stood there, foolishly, and waited for them to finish, and when they did, when they panted against each other and Wesley knew what had happened, what was going on under that blanket, he couldn't help but let out a sob, shutting his mouth immediately when both other boys turned to look at him.

"Wes," Connor said, starting to shake, and pulling the blanket tighter around him, as Lindsey stumbled for the right thing, for _any_ thing to say.

Wesley ignored Connor, for the moment, and stared straight at Lindsey. He knew he'd set this up, told Oz to send him here to catch them like this, and he was pretty sure that Connor hadn't known about that little part of the plan, and he didn't know if that made it better or worse.

"Did you really need for me to see this?" he asked, trying to keep his voice level, but they all knew he was on the verge if breaking down.

Lindsey sat up straighter and tried to keep himself unaffected by Wesley's obvious distress. "Now you know how I felt," he said, voice oddly kind considering the circumstance. This was what he'd wanted, right? For Wesley to see this, to know what Lindsey had gone through? So why did he feel so much like shit now that it had all worked out like he'd planned?

"No, Lindsey," Wesley said, shaking his head once and swallowing around the lump in his throat. "You have no idea what I'm feeling right now." And it was true, as far as he knew.

"I told you," he said, voice betraying his emotion. "I _tried_ to tell you, that what you saw wasn't what it looked like. I didn't mean for it to happen, didn't even know it _was_ happening, but you... you planned this. You wanted me to see this, you wanted to hurt me. Well done."

Wesley was right, in a way, but dammit, Lindsey was hurting too. And he was supposed to just pretend he wasn't and forgive Wes and make everything okay? No. He knew this had been dumb, knew it even before he did it, and yeah, he felt horrible, but Wes had fucked around first, and he had to understand that there were consequences for his actions.

But fuck, not like this. Never like this, Lindsey knew that now, but it was too late.

"Wes..." Connor said again, wanting to explain, even though there wasn't really an explanation, not a good one, anyway, but Wesley cut him off, eyes blazing with hurt and staring straight at him.

"And _you_! Don't even start. You _hate_ Lindsey. The only reason you're doing... whatever the _hell_ it is you're doing, is to try to make certain that Lindsey and I don't get back together." His eyes turned hard, harder than Lindsey or Connor had ever seen them, and his voice turned dangerous enough to match. "Congratulations," he said, looking at first Connor and then Lindsey. "Both of you."

"Wes..." Lindsey said, sounding desperate and wanting to reach out for Wesley, wanting to say something, but not knowing what and wishing that the whole thing with Connor had never happened. Wishing neither of them had ever even met him, and that they could go back to the way things had been before he'd walked in on his boyfriend getting fucked by some other guy.

Wesley spared them each one final glare and turned around, determined that they not see how much this had destroyed him, and walked away.

"Fuck!" Lindsey shouted after he watched Wesley walk away from him, and slammed his fist into the side of his truck.

"What's the matter?" Connor asked, snide and sickened, with Lindsey and himself. "He's pissed off. Isn't that what you wanted?" A few minutes ago he wanted it to, but seeing that look on Wesley face, broken and devastated, any trust he'd had in either of them shattered, about killed him.

He'd realised, when Lindsey first started this whole thing going tonight, and with every word and action after that, that Lindsey loved Wesley. And even though Wes had said, been saying for a while, that he loved Lindsey, too, Connor hadn't really believed it, had still thought that he could change his mind, but seeing Wesley's reaction to what they had done to him, made Connor realise that he was very much mistaken.

And even if he did succeed tonight, in breaking the two of them up for good, he knew that Wesley wouldn't be with him, and not only because of his part in all this, but because Wesley could never feel about Connor the way he felt about Lindsey, and as much as it broke Connor's heart, he needed to get over it, and put Wesley's happiness first. That's what you did when you loved someone, right?

Lindsey scowled at Connor, but mostly because he was right. He had wanted exactly this, when he'd first come up with this brilliant idea, but... no. This was the last thing he wanted, to see Wesley so hurt, to be the cause of that, no matter what Wesley had put him through.

It had been petty and vindictive, and he hated himself for letting it go as far as it had. Mostly because it had worked. Wesley obviously still cared about him if he was that upset, but Lindsey was still so angry, still so unable to wrap his head around why the hell Wes would have slept with Connor if Lindsey meant that much to him. Not that Lindsey hadn't done exactly the same thing, only ten times worse.

It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense at the moment, and he wished he could just make it all go away.

"Nothing happened," Connor's low voice came, interrupting his thoughts.

"Huh?"

"When you found us, in Wes's bed. Nothing happened. He was drunk, I helped him upstairs and into bed, and he passed out. I climbed in with him, because..." he paused and shrugged, not entirely sure why he'd done it. "Because I wanted to be close to him, I guess, and he was sleeping, and didn't even know I'd done it. He was dreaming about you, thought I was you... It wasn't his fault."

He got up and pulled up his pants, wincing as the cold wetness was plastered against his skin.

"He really, really likes you," Connor continued. "Fucked if I know why, but... This? What we just did? He'd never have done something like this. I tried. Even after the two of you got together, I tried, but... he wouldn't. He loves you."

Lindsey jumped up then, fastening his own pants, angry and elated all at once. Wesley hadn't really cheated on him! Well, sort of, but he hadn't done it on purpose, and he hadn't even really known he was doing it. Sure, he could have used some better judgement, and Lindsey wasn't going to get over it just like that, but it was nowhere near as bad as Lindsey had been thinking.

And shit. That just made him feel about a hundred times worse.

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me before?" He demanded, bundling the blanket up and tossing in the corner, making a mental note to burn it later.

"Wesley did. That should have been good enough. Besides, he was right. I do want to keep you guys apart."

"So why are you telling me now?"

Connor shrugged and stood up, and didn't say anything as he jumped out of the truck and went off to find Dawn and the rest of his friends, leaving Lindsey sitting alone, and feeling like an even bigger ass than Connor.

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

It was Saturday afternoon, three days after Wesley had caught Lindsey and Connor going at it in the back of his truck in the middle of a party, and he hadn't talked to either of them since. Connor had been leaving messages, sending emails, but he hadn't called him back, and Lindsey hadn't even tried to speak with him, and though it hurt, he'd been glad. He wouldn't have known what to say to him anyway.

He was angry, betrayed, (and yes, he'd a newfound appreciation for the word _understatement_) and didn't understand how the two of them could have done something like that, have made sure he saw it, and done it just to hurt him. He knew he had hurt Lindsey, in much the same way, last week, but it hadn't been what he thought, and he'd tried to explain that. And he _certainly_ wouldn't have done anything designed to cause pain to the man he loved.

Instead of bothering to listen to Wesley, Lindsey had decided a better way to deal with things was to go off and fuck Connor, to give Wesley back some of the pain that he'd felt, and though it killed him that Lindsey would purposely cause him that kind of hurt, would _want_ him to feel that bad, even temporarily, he sort of understood. Sort of, though the reasons that Wesley knew he had for what he'd done didn't even half justify his actions.

Lindsey had thought he did the same, thought he'd disregarded him, his feelings, and made a conscious decision to be with someone else, regardless of what it did to him, to _them_. If only Lindsey had thought about something other than his own stupid ego for more than two seconds, and hadn't been such a pig-headed, rash, stubborn bastard!!

Wesley was pissed off, surely, and absolutely. But he was sorry too, and he was lonely, and not having Lindsey around for the past week, knowing that things were so very wrong between them, was tearing a hole in his heart, and even now, after everything, he wanted to be with him.

Because sometimes, Wesley knew first hand, when people were in love, they were able to overlook things that no rational person ever should. Or at least to try. But love wasn't rational, and neither was Wesley, as much as he hated Lindsey at the moment, he loved him, too, and he honestly couldn't decide, if he saw him right now, whether he would hug him, or slug him.

So yes, he was glad he hadn't called because Wesley would only have come across as a schizophrenic psycho, anyway. Besides, he hadn't ruled out the possibility that Lindsey was happy things were over between them, and if he did call it might only be to let Wesley know that, to rub it in about how good it had been with Connor.

Lindsey wasn't that much of an ass, he didn't think, but he was heartbroken and stupid at the moment, and expecting the worst, to prepare himself for even more heartache. They both were.

And Connor. Shit. Wesley couldn't entirely blame him either, though he'd have liked to. He knew that he'd been horrible to him, repeatedly. Used him, for nothing but sex, when the need arose, just as Lindsey had, effectively stuck him in the middle of his relationship problems. And Connor had gone along with it, with both him and Lindsey. And damn enthusiastically, if what he'd seen going on in the back of Lindsey's truck was anything to go by.

In a way, a much clearer way than he understood Lindsey's actions, he understood Connor's. He was young, and selfish in regards to his own feelings, ego, heart, to an extent that Lindsey might possibly only surpass, but he wasn't a bad kid. Wesley felt horrible about how they'd both used him, but Connor hadn't exactly been innocent.

He must have known, all along, and especially with Lindsey, how his actions would hurt Wesley, and he felt that betrayal just as sharply as he did Lindsey's.

He knew if he spoke with Connor he would only end up being harsh, saying things that weren't true out of anger, resentment, and even worse, saying things that _were_ true that he knew he should keep to himself. No, even if he'd lost Lindsey for good, he knew he'd been right when he decided to cut Connor out of his life. When he finally managed to pick up the shattered pieces of his heart enough to move on, he wanted to make sure that any future relationships had a better chance than the one with Lindsey had.

He'd finally left the house just that morning, needing to get out, to get some air, some perspective, even it meant braving the crowds in the mall to try to get his Christmas shopping done. It was in two days, and normally he would have had it all finished by now, gifts nicely wrapped with little bows and shiny name tags placed neatly under the tree, but he'd been distracted lately.

He came down from his bedroom, three presents wrapped and tucked under his arm, and went into the living room, to put them under the impressive looking Douglas Fur, next to the ones that his father and Spike had already put there.

"Hey Wes!" Fred greeted, too cheery for her even, and she cringed a little at how fake she sounded, but she knew Wes was having a rough time, and she just wanted to make it better for him. Not that sounding like Hyperactive Barbie was going to do that… "Finished your shoppin'?

"Yes," he answered with a forced smile and put down his gifts, then sat on one of the chairs, looking at Spike and Fred, curled up on the couch together, holding hands and watching the lights on the tree sparkle. His whole body tightened with renewed pain and he missed Lindsey acutely in that moment.

"I'm rather behind this year, I know, but… I've had a lot on my mind."

Fred offered him a reassuring smile, not quite knowing what to say. She didn't want to bring Lindsey up if Wesley didn't, but she really thought he should talk about it. Surely they could work everything out, she thought. They loved each other, she could just tell, and this whole thing had to be some kind of misunderstanding. If they would just get over themselves and talk to each other, they'd see that, and be happy.

"Better not have skimped out on my present this year just because your boyfriend fucked with your ex-tumble," Spike said, characteristically vulgar, but there was a slight smirk on his lip and twinkle in his eye indicating he was joking around, crass though the joke was. He was trying to lighten the mood, take some of the stress, the seriousness, out of the situation and get Wesley to relax, start to get over it.

"Don't worry, Spike," Wesley said, with a snort. "I won't let my emotional devastation get in the way of making sure you receive a decent Christmas gift." He knew Spike wasn't being serious, and it felt good to have some normalcy, what with Spike being as utter arse and all.

"You better not," Spike agreed with a nod and eyed Wesley's addition to the gift pile speculatively. None of those parcels looked large enough to be the Fender Stratocaster that Wesley knew he'd been eyeing up. "And speaking of Christmas gifts," he said with a toothy smile and looking straight at Wesley. "Wot say I get you a whore?"

"What?!" Wesley spluttered, nearly chocking on his own tongue, and Fred punched him, hard in the arm.

"What?" Spike asked, sounding like he was confused about their objections. "Sex with a stranger is a great way to get over a broken heart." He happened to know that was true, at least for him, but he hadn't actually intended for Wesley to take him up on his offer. He just wanted to get him talking.

"You're very sweet," Wesley answered him, sounding sarcastic but actually quite genuine. "But I'm not sure I want to. Get over it."

"Right," Spike said, nodding his head decisively. "I'm just gonna kick the little fucker's arse then."

"Spike!" Fred admonished, though she honestly couldn't say she'd blame him. Not after what Lindsey had done.

"Spike…" Wesley said, somewhat more defeated, tired. "Don't. He acted rashly, yes, but that doesn't make him a bad person. I never would have thought…" He'd never have thought that Lindsey would do something like that to him. None of them would have, not even Spike.

"No, you're right," Fred agreed with Wes. "It just doesn't sound like him. Lindsey's not that kind of guy."

"I guess I just bring it out in him," Wesley mused. "How flattering."

"Don't say that," Fred told him, face and voice sympathetic. "It couldn't have been what it looked like."

"Oh, it was very much what it looked like," Wesley countered. "Believe me. Though I suppose much of it is my fault anyway," he thought out loud. It felt good to talk to someone about this, say these things outside of his own head. "If I hadn't gotten so drunk and passed out with Connor, I wouldn't have driven him away, driven him to this."

"Don't be dumb," Spike shot, angry that Wesley was blaming himself at all for Lindsey's asinine actions. "He's clearly not good enough for you anyway, if he didn't believe you when you told him nothing happened between you and Connor."

"Almost nothing," Wesley corrected. "I was still naked, in bed with another boy. I can see how he might take that the wrong way. And I didn't get the chance to tell him. I left him messages, but… that's not really the same thing."

"I'm sure he's feeling as bad about this as you are, Wes," Fred said, trying to be helpful. She really believed it, too. She knew Lindsey, and this _didn't_ sound like him, and she was sure this whole thing was eating him up. "You should talk to him."

"I tried," Wes answered. "After he saw me… anyway, he wouldn't return my calls, thought instead he should sleep with someone else, and he hasn't tried to contact me since. If he'd wanted to talk, to work try to work this out, he would have called, came to see me, something. He clearly doesn't."

"Are you sure you don't want me to kick his arse?" Spike asked again, feeling utterly helpless and wanting, more than anything, for Wesley to be okay.

Wesley chuckled, an oddly hollow sound. "I'm sure. I think perhaps you were right all along, Spike. My interest in Lindsey was doomed from the start, and I really need to finally take your advice and try to get over it."

"You sure you can?"

"No," Wesley smiled. "I'm not sure I want to."

"Do you really think you can forgive him, Wes?" Spike wondered. The last thing he wanted was for the two of them to get back together only for Lindsey to pull some shit like this again the next time he took something out of context.

"Don't get me wrong," Wes said, to both of them. "I'm… Livid. And more hurt than I thought possible. By both Lindsey _and_ Connor. I'm not making excuses for them, or for myself, because I know I fucked up here too, but… I just want it to be over. I think I already have forgiven him. The question is, does he want my forgiveness? And if he does, what does that mean?"

Fred and Spike were both pretty sure that Lindsey had realised he'd fucked up. Fred knew him pretty well, or thought she did, and even Spike, who was happy not knowing him at all, could tell, a while ago, how smitten Lindsey was with Wesley, how much he would want Wesley to tell him it was okay, take him back, make him happy again. They knew how much the boys cared for one another, and it was going to take more than this to keep them apart. It made Fred smile, and Spike cringe.

They spent the rest of the afternoon talking about random things, watching television, even laughing, and by the time Fred had gone home for the night, leaving Spike and Wesley huddled together and drinking hot buttered rums and watching 'Black Christmas' together, a dreadful Holiday horror film that had become a tradition between the two of them, Wesley was beginning to feel a little better.

He still missed Lindsey, of course, still hurt whenever he thought of him, still desperately wanted him back, needed him, but if it wasn't to be he knew he'd be alright. Spike was very, very good like that. And so was Fred, he was learning.

The phone rang somewhere around half eleven, and they both jumped, screaming, and then quickly tried to pretend they hadn't just acted like twelve year old girls. It wasn't really their fault; they were watching one of those, 'the call is coming from inside the house' movies, and they were alone and it was dark.

"Yeah, I…" Spike said, trying to play it cool and Wesley laughed at him, kissing him on the cheek.

"Go and see who it is," Wes told him. "I certainly don't want to be next if it's the killer."

Spike mock scowled at him, but did as he asked. He was going to anyway. Wesley could hear the vague sounds of a conversation coming from the kitchen, so assumed it was one of Spike's friends, and relaxed as best he could without Spike there with him, to watch the movie until his friend came back.

It took longer than he thought, almost five minutes, and when Spike came back into the living room he looked a little nervous.

"Wes," he said, nodding his head toward the kitchen, where the phone was. "It's Connor. He wants to talk to you, and I think you should listen."

***

Lindsey hadn't called Wesley since the big class Christmas party, when he'd fucked up spectacularly, and almost had sex with Connor. He had wanted to, a hundred times, wanted to tell Wesley he was sorry, that he'd been hurting and overreacted and he should have listened to Wes in the first place and not done what he did.

But what the hell was he supposed to say? 'Yeah, sorry I rubbed off against some guy I hate just to try to make you feel bad. Still love me?' That probably wasn't going to go over too well. But he _was_ sorry. And he _did_ hope Wesley still loved him.

Oh, he was still a bit angry with Wes, for what he'd done, or what he'd allowed to happen, but he knew now that it hadn't been what he'd thought, hadn't been as bad, and that just made him feel worse about his own actions, angrier with Wes for not being as weak, as mean, as he was. Fuck! This whole thing was just so fucked up.

He should call, he knew. Apologise and tell Wesley that he'd get over what he had seen and beg Wes to get over it too, and tell him, like he'd wanted to a week ago that he loved him, that he wanted him, and they could be so good, so happy, if Wesley could only get past what an ass he'd been, and yeah, he probably owed Connor an apology too.

But fuck, he didn't want to have to talk to that irritating little shit, to tell him he'd been wrong to use him like that, and he sure as hell didn't want to call Wes, to talk to his voicemail like Wes had talked to his, to leave the same messages, but worse, because when Wes had seen them it had been exactly what it looked like, and he had no excuse, and if he hadn't called Wesley back, hadn't wanted to listen, what the hell would make him think that Wesley would listen to _him_ now?

"You fucked up, man," Angel told him, cutting into his musings. They weren't even pretending to practise today, just hanging out in the garage and drinking beer. "Forget about the fact that it was _Connor_ you fucked, and trust me, that's enough of a fuck-up in itself, but… That just wasn't cool."

"Wow. I wouldn't have expected _you_ to come down so hard," said Lindsey, looking derisive and taking a drink of his beer.

"Why the hell not?"

"Cause you're a pig," Lindsey told him, neutrally. "I figured you'd get a kick out of me fucking around, making my way through the queers at school." He didn't really believe that, but he was mad, hurt, and lashing out. "Besides. Not like he didn't do the same thing." Only it was.

Angel shook his head and guffawed. "Plenty of things I'd get a kick out of man, but cheating isn't one of them."

"I didn't cheat!" Lindsey protested, but immediately snapped his mouth shut, not even believing his own words. Catching your boyfriend with another guy, like he'd done with Wes and Connor, was grounds for immediate release as far as most people were concerned, but his feelings for Wesley hadn't changed, and he didn't think Wesley's had for him either. Things could have been okay by now, but instead Lindsey had just fucked them up even more.

Angel just snorted, and Oz raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"What?!" Lindsey barked, defensive.

"Whatever you say, pal," Angel said.

"Lindsey, man, I get why you were upset, and I would have been too, but… you didn't handle it right. You know that. You knew that when you were doing it. So don't act like you haven't done anything wrong."

"I'm not!" Lindsey shouted, getting pissed off at his friends and feeling like shit for it. "I _know_ I fucked up! But if he…" If he hadn't let himself be manoeuvred into bed with Connor, if he hadn't had so much to drink and lost all his judgment and let Connor touch him, thinking he was Lindsey, then Lindsey wouldn't have done what he had. Not that it was an excuse he planned on using, because even he could see how thin it was.

He knew he was in the wrong. Almost completely, and he'd be willing to admit to _completely_ completely if it would get him Wes back, and he hated himself and this whole fucked up situation. "Yeah, I'm a shithead, alright. Can we move on?"

Oz shook his head, clucking his tongue at Lindsey. It wasn't often he offered his opinion, preferring to let people work things out for themselves, but he loved Lindsey, and he knew Lindsey loved Wes and he didn't want one of his best friends fucking up one of the greatest things that had happened to him. "You gotta make this right, man. I know he messed up too, but," he shrugged, and looked at Lindsey as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You love each other. Sort it out."

Oz was right. Fuck, everybody seemed to be right lately but him.

"How?" he asked, half scornful and half pleading. He desperately wanted to sort it out, wanted to stop feeling like shit, wanted to be with Wes again, wanted to be happy, not mope and bring his friends down, and not have acted like such a fuckin' grade A asshole.

"Buy him something pretty and suck his dick," Angel offered, and the others didn't even bother to look at him.

"Tell him how you feel," said Oz. "Be honest. Tell him you know you were wrong and you're sorry, and it's killing you every minute you're not with him." He shrugged and almost smiled. "And if that doesn't work, buy him something pretty and suck his dick."

Lindsey chuckled, the smile reaching his eyes for the first time in a week. "You're right. We just need to... talk. Either he forgives me and we get over this, or we don't. But I gotta try."

***

Monday morning, Christmas morning, Lindsey, his father and his stepmother sat in their living room, remnants of a decadent celebratory breakfast of eggs, bacon, pancakes with chocolate cream, fresh squeezed orange juice and coffee littering the kitchen behind them.

Missy didn't cook like that very often, only on Sunday nights for family dinners, and that was mostly just a store-bought, oven-ready roast, and throwing a few vegetables into some water, but Christmas was a special occasion, and she wanted to spoil her boys.

It had actually been very good, and Lindsey was sort of surprised by that, but not by the display he was currently watching, Missy draped all over his father in his plush leather chair by the window, smiling and giggling and stroking his face as she wriggled in his lap. Lindsey was seated across from them on the sofa and tried valiantly to look at the Christmas tree, or the wall or the inside of his eyelids or anything but his father and his wife.

Bits of brightly coloured paper were scattered over the carpet, having missed the garbage bag after they'd been torn off presents, and Missy was fingering her brand new diamond necklace and placing kisses of thank you and promises for later all over his dad's face, and Lindsey hated them just a little, for being so happy.

He still hadn't talked to Wesley. He had wanted to, had wanted to call him up on Saturday as soon as he'd gotten home from Angel's place and make everything better, or put himself out of his misery, but he thought he might need more than just a phone call and a half-baked apology mixed in with an accusation of infidelity to make things right between them.

He did have a plan, though. He was going to talk with Wesley today. He wasn't counting on Wes actually wanting to talk, to see him, knowing he should have called much sooner than this, and every day he didn't was a day that Wes would have gotten angrier, pushed him further away, forgotten about him, but he had needed time. Time to think and to be sure and to get over what Wes had done to him, and to stop denying the fact that he was in love, and couldn't even imagine his future without Wesley in it.

He hoped it wasn't too late, thought Wes would probably just hang up on him if he called, and certainly not agree to meet him, so he wasn't going to ask. Not Wes anyway.

"Thanks for the presents, dad," he said, standing up and heading toward the couple on the chair. He smiled and clapped his hand on his father's arm, and his dad smiled back and nodded, thanking him as well.

"Missy," he added, grinning and kissing her on the cheek before stepping back. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas!" Missy returned.

"Merry Christmas, son," his father answered.

Lindsey smiled once more and took another step back. "I'm gonna go make a call," he said. But they weren't listening anymore. He snorted and shook his head and turned around, heading for his room, and the phone.

***

Wesley, his father and Spike got home from church at a little after half ten, and Wesley headed into the kitchen straight away, laughing and almost bouncing and putting a saucepan of milk on the stove to make hot chocolate as his father went straight for the fireplace to light a fire, and Spike turned on all the Christmas lights.

It was warm that day, and they didn't really need the chocolate, and certainly not a fire, but it had always been a tradition for them back home, and Wesley and his father looked forward to it each year. And so did Spike.

It was warm, and comfortable and happy, and they drunk and laughed and opened gifts and when they were finished they sat, quietly and watched the fire, and Wesley almost didn't think about Lindsey.

He couldn't help it though, because he knew that afternoon Spike was going to leave, go to Fred's place, and his father would work in his study and he'd be alone, and wishing that he wasn't, wishing that Lindsey was there with him.

Sure, he'd been hurt, sure he'd hurt Lindsey, but it almost didn't matter anymore, not to Wes, not if they were together. But they weren't and it obviously still mattered to Lindsey, because it had been almost a week since they last saw each other, and if he'd wanted to patch things up, he would have tried by now.

The phone rang then, and Wesley held his breath, his father barely noticed, just smiled into his sip of drink and watched the logs crackle, and Spike got up to go to the kitchen and answer the phone.

Wesley heard a vague mumble from Spike, followed by some more chatter and he sighed. It was probably Fred, calling to wish him a Merry Christmas, and he shouldn't have bothered getting his hopes up that it would have been Lindsey.

He was beginning to resign himself to the fact that it was over, and along with that resignation came a sort of anger that Lindsey would have the gall to completely write off Wes's apology, then do something even worse to get back at him, and not even think he had any reason to apologise himself.

Yes, anger he could deal with. It was much, much better than the hollow numbness he would be feeling otherwise.

***

"'Lo," Spike spoke into the phone, warmly. He couldn't think of anyone who would be calling today except close friends and family, and he was hoping that it was either Fred or his parents. And if wasn't his parents he was going to have to call them after this. It wasn't. It wasn't Fred either.

"Uh, hey, Spike," Lindsey answered, almost cringing for fear of Spike just slamming the phone down before he'd even heard what he had to say. He wouldn't blame him if he did, really. He'd been a complete shit to Wes, and Spike had threatened to do much worse than hang up on him for it.

"What the hell do you want?" Spike hissed, trying to keep his voice down. He didn't want Wesley to know who had called. Not until he decided if the jerk-off deserved to speak to Wesley or not.

"Wesley," was what Lindsey said, voice so honest and pleading that Spike nearly gave his friend the telephone. Nearly.

"Yeah, well. He's busy."

"I don't want to talk to him. Hell, I know he probably wouldn't take my call anyway. I want to see him."

"And you're telling me this because…" Spike prompted, half wishing Lindsey had never called, and half hoping that he'd give him a reason to tell Wes to go to him. He was a twat, sure, but Wes loved him, and Spike was beginning to think that he loved Wes. They'd be happy, if they could manage to get their shit together, and Spike wanted that. For Wesley anyway. And he supposed it wouldn't kill him if Lindsey got some happiness out of the deal, too.

Hey, look at that. He was growing as a person.

"Because he'll listen to you," Lindsey said. And he would. If Spike told Wes to give Lindsey a shot, to see him, to listen to him, then he would. Which was why he was eternally grateful that Spike had answered the phone, and not Wesley.

"Yeah, you're not wrong about that," Spike agreed. "But why the hell should_ I_ listen to _you_?"

"Spike," Lindsey growled. He hated this. Hating having to explain himself to this prick, but he knew he had to, if he wanted to get Wes back. "Just shut the fuck up and do me a favour, would ya?" Oops.

"You know, the only reason I haven't already kicked your arse is because Wesley doesn't want me to."

"Yeah, I'm shakin'," Lindsey said, and Spike could hear him rolling his eyes. "Just… fuck. I know I fucked up, alright? I want to make it up to him. I want to spend as long as it takes proving to him that I won't fuck up like that again, and I need your help."

"You don't deserve him."

"I love him." And Lindsey sounded so lost and desperate that Spike didn't have a choice.

He swore, under his breath and bit out a harsh, "Fine. What do you want?" into the mouthpiece.

"I just want you to drive him somewhere. This afternoon."

"Lindsey," Spike warned again. "If you fuck this up, again, I'm not gonna care what Wes wants. I'll just make you very, very sorry." He strongly suspected that there was nothing he could do to make Lindsey sorrier than he already was, and really that was the only reason he was agreeing to this.

"I love him," Lindsey said again, as if it were an answer. It probably was.

Spike sighed. "Where do you want me to take him?"

***

Two hours later, Wesley and Spike were downstairs in Spike's room, hanging out and absently chatting. As a Christmas gift, Spike's parents had decided to buy him an apartment in Sunnydale, as he'd be staying there for at least the next four years for college, and perhaps beyond that. He wasn't sure what he'd be doing once school was finished, but he could always sell it if he wanted to move, and though he'd enjoyed living in Wesley's basement, he was glad to have a place that was his.

He'd miss Wes, he figured, even though they'd still be in the same town, and he'd be lonely, not used to the quiet, in a place all on his own, but… he didn't have to be.

"I get the keys on the fourth," Spike said, smiling broadly and randomly picking at one string, then another, on the new guitar he'd gotten as a joint gift from Wesley and his father. He knew Wes would come through for him. Not that he couldn't have just bought it himself, but it meant more that Wesley had thought of it.

"That's fantastic, Spike," Wesley smiled back. "It's about bloody time they got you someplace decent to live." And the apartment _was_ decent. More than. Spike's parents had emailed him pictures, and he'd shown them to Wesley, and they'd spent half an hour deciding what furniture he'd need and where it would go. He'd miss having Spike around, but it was time he got out of the basement. "Do you think you'll be packed by then?"

"Think _you_ will be?" Spike asked.

"Think I… what?" Wesley asked with a confused frown.

"Oh, come on. It's a two bedroom, there's plenty of space, and you don't want to spend your college days living with your dad, do ya?"

"I…" No, he didn't. Not without Spike. He didn't want to come home to an empty house most days, and one that usually felt empty even when it wasn't. Not without having Lindsey to bring home to make use of it. And even if they still were together, he knew Lindsey was headed off to LA for school, and wouldn't be around much during the week anyway. "Yes, I think I can manage that."

They paused for a second, to look at each other and grin, great big goofy grins of excitement and change, before Spike tossed his fender down on the couch next to him and stood.

"Right, so I'm off to Fred's for a bit." Wesley nodded morosely and stood as well, preparing to head upstairs so Spike could take off. He didn't begrudge his friend seeing his girlfriend today, but it was really just rubbing in how much he wasn't with the person he wanted to be with.

"Oh, don't look like I just killed your puppy," Spike sighed. "You're coming with me."

"I don't think the two of you need company," Wesley told him, but he couldn't help sort of hoping they did. He really didn't want to be alone.

"You're not coming to Fred's with me."

"Then… where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

***

After twenty minutes of rare, silent driving, Spike turned into a parking lot off the road. He saw Lindsey's car, a way's up the beach, so he mentally shrugged and kept on driving, past the signs that suggested that no motor vehicles were allowed beyond that point, until he brought them to a stop about ten meters from Lindsey's car. And from Lindsey, standing outside, hands in his pockets, feet shuffling in the sand and looking expectantly at Spike's car.

Spike put his hand on his door handle and motioned for Wesley to do the same, both of them getting out of the car and standing next to it, looking at each other, and sneaking glances at Lindsey standing a short distance away.

"Spike?" Wesley asked, when he realised where they were and who else was there. "What the hell is going on?"

Spike shrugged, as if he didn't know the answer to that. "Lindsey called me. Said he wanted to see you, said he wanted to get you back." Really, that was the only answer he had, and he hoped Wesley thought it was a good one. "I don't know if he deserves another chance, Wes. Don't know if _you_ do, to be honest, after what you did to him."

It was the first time that Spike had put any blame on Wesley, even though he'd deserved it, and Wesley was taken aback by the statement. "You don't know if I…" he said, righteous indignation filling his face and voice for a fraction of a second, before he conceded. "I probably don't."

"But he asked me to bring you here," Spike continued, as if Wesley hadn't spoken.

"Since when does Lindsey call you up for a chat? And since when do you listen to him about anything?"

"Since you're miserable without him," Spike answered, simply. "Look, Wes, I know I've been a jerk, okay _more_ of a jerk, since you started seeing him, and I… bugger, I'm sorry, okay? This whole thing's been hard on you, both of you," he added looking at Lindsey and nodding. "And I didn't exactly make it any easier. I should have. Should have been there, should have been more supportive." He sighed and stepped around the car to stand next to Wesley.

"He's not good enough for you. He fucked up. Hard. And nobody using their brain wouldn't even think about telling you to give him another chance."

"Spike…" Wesley warned, but Spike cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"But I know you love him," Spike continued, as if Wesley hadn't spoken. "And he… Well he wants to make it better." He didn't think it was up to him to tell Wes that Lindsey loved him, too. Not when he hadn't told him himself.

He really wasn't sure if he wanted things to work out between them or not, but hell. The guy had called him up, when he knew how much Spike must be hating him over how he'd treated Wes, after he'd promised a first class arse kicking if Wes was even remotely hurt by anything Lindsey had done, and asked for his help. And that took balls. Hell he might even be able to like the son of a bitch someday after all.

"I want you to be happy," Spike told him. "Even if what makes you happy is him."

"Spike," Wes said again, but his tone was softer this time, and he was feeling ridiculously soft and squishy at Spike's words. It meant a lot that Spike felt bad about how he'd acted, and it meant even more that he was willing to help him and Lindsey get back together. If, indeed, that's what this was. He was entirely uncertain about what to expect.

He took Spike's hand in his, squeezing gently before placing a soft kiss on his cheek. "Thank you," he said to him.

"Love you, Wes," Spike whispered. "Least I could do is bloody act like it on occasion. Now piss off and go see your sweetie-pie so the two of you can shag and make up."

Wesley snorted and rolled his eyes, stepping back from Spike. "Ever the romantic."

"Right. I'm off to see Fred. If… if you need me to come get you, just call."

Wesley nodded and Spike got back in his car, finding that he really hoped Wesley didn't need to call him. Damn, but that was terrible.

Wes didn't know what to expect, or what Lindsey would say to him, or what he would say in return. He looked at the other boy, smiling tentatively at him, and he didn't return the smile, but he did take a deep breath and shut the car door behind him, before starting to walk toward Lindsey as Spike drove off.

He was just standing there, alone, next to his school bag, kicking up small spurts of sand, and as Wesley got nearer, he got scared. What if Lindsey didn't want to go back? What if he hadn't forgiven Wes? What if he wasn't sorry about what he'd done? No, that couldn't be. Why the hell would he have asked him here if that was the case?

"You wanna sit down?" Lindsey asked, gesturing to the sand near his feet.

Wesley just stood, staring at Lindsey as if waiting for an explanation.

Lindsey sighed and sat down himself, running his hand over the cool ground next to him. "Please," he said, looking up at Wesley.

Wesley wanted to leave, wanted to punch Lindsey in that stupid, pretty face of his, wanted to yell at him, to beg his forgiveness, to wrap his arms around him and kiss him, forever. He sat.

Lindsey huffed out a small breath of relief and stared at his fingers, absently picking at a cuticle. Wes hadn't left as soon as he'd seen him, and it looked as if he might actually want to talk. That was good. He reached into the bag at his feet and pulled out two beers, offering one to Wesley, hoping he'd take it.

Wesley eyed the bottle quizzically, and then looked at Lindsey, who pushed the bottle further towards him and shrugged, smiling shyly. "It's Monday."

Wesley didn't say anything, didn't really trust himself to speak yet, but he took the bottle, and watched as Lindsey popped the top on his can and took a swig. He put his own down in the sand between his legs and frowned, waiting for almost a full minute for Lindsey to speak again. He didn't.

"Lindsey, what the hell is this about?" Wes finally asked.

Lindsey's hand disappeared again inside his school bag, and when it emerged it was holding a package, plain red paper folded neatly over whatever was inside, and he handed it to Wesley, who took it without a word, too surprised not to. "Merry Christmas," Lindsey told him.

"Lindsey, I..." Wesley started, and shook his head, not quite knowing where this came from. A Christmas gift? They hadn't really spoken in two weeks, Wesley hadn't been sure that they ever would again, though he was happier than he'd ever been when he'd realised that Lindsey had wanted to see him, and now Lindsey was giving a Christmas gift?

"Oz said I should apologize. Tell you how I feel, and that I know I fucked up and... And if that didn't work, that I should give you something pretty and suck your dick." He broke off and chuckled, seeming to find some genuine humour in the situation, but Wesley just looked confused. And pissed off.

"I thought I'd start with the 'something pretty'. It might make the apology go smoother." And then maybe they could make their way around to that dick sucking, but Lindsey wasn't holding his breath.

Wesley looked at the package – a book, if the size and shape were anything to go by – and balanced it on his knee, hand resting on top of it. "And if Oz told you to jump off a bridge, would you do that as well?" He asked, tone haughty, superior. The last thing he wanted to do was to get into an argument now, when Lindsey was obviously trying, but he wasn't impressed that Lindsey had just said he was doing this because his friend told him to.

"Well, Oz happens to be right about this," Lindsey said, tilting a little closer to Wesley, brushing their arms together. Wesley sucked in a breath at the contact, unconsciously leaned a little closer to Lindsey so that they were almost pressed together, and they both closed their eyes for a moment, and in that moment, any doubts either of them had as to whether or not they wanted things to be okay between them, vanished.

They were both here, after all. Both needing to be together, despite everything, and sure, this probably wasn't going to be the only problem they'd ever face, and they were both still hurting, but… What it came down to was how they felt about each other, and the feelings were much too strong to let go of, even because of Wesley's mistake and Lindsey's spectacular fuck-up.

"Open it," Lindsey said, almost a whisper, and he nodded toward the present on Wesley's knee.

Wesley smiled, small but honest, and carefully pulled the taped edges apart, removing the paper and placing down on the sand beside him. And then he looked at the gift.

He was right; it was a book.

"It's an original print," Lindsey offered, because he'd gone to some trouble and expense to acquire it, and he wanted to make sure Wesley knew how much he'd put into this, that he'd been thinking of him, wanting to do something special for him, that it wasn't just as if he'd stopped by Barnes and Noble on the way here and picked something up.

"It's…" Wesley said, looking at the cover, not sure how to finish that sentence. _On The Road_. Hmm.

"I noticed that you didn't have it, and I know how much you like books so…"

Wesley laughed. Hard and long, until he thought he might have a hernia, or more probably throw up. Oh, God, this was priceless! It felt great to laugh, like some sort of release, even if only half of it was due to his amusement at the gift. A good portion of his outburst was due to nerves.

He'd known, even as he was watching Lindsey's little show with Connor, that he still loved him, still wanted him, and would get over this, if Lindsey wanted him to. But now that it was actually happening, now that he was faced with Lindsey, looking so sorry about, so scared that Wesley wouldn't forgive him, so obviously wishing he hadn't done what he'd done, it was a little too real.

Of course he would take Lindsey back. There hadn't even been any doubt of that, not for Wesley, but it was terrifying. Lindsey could very easily do something just as stupid as he had, or even stupider, though Wes couldn't quite imagine anything that would fall into that category, and shatter Wesley's heart into a million pieces again, hurt him beyond repair. But the thought of that pain was nothing compared to the pain of not having Lindsey in his life.

"What?" Lindsey asked, sounding a little defensive. He'd put a lot of thought into that, and Wesley was laughing?

"Lindsey," Wesley said, when he'd managed to calm down. "There's a reason I don't have this book. It's the single largest piece of pretentious bullshit that I've ever wasted my time on. I hate it!" He was still smiling.

"Oh," Lindsey said, frowning, and his face fell. "Well, I can… I can get you something else. Just tell me what you like. Anything."

"No," he said, seriously, and gripped the book tighter when Lindsey made to reach for it. "Thank you. It means a lot." And it did. It meant, 'I know I fucked up' and 'I'm sorry', and 'I'm thinking of you' and in a way that nothing ever had before, combined with the phone call to Spike and impromptu beer picnic on the beech on a chilly Christmas afternoon, it meant 'I love you'.

Lindsey snorted, but managed a small smile. Trust Wes not to pretend he liked something if he didn't. At least he genuinely seemed to appreciate it though, and it made Lindsey feel good to hear him laugh, to be the one to put that brilliant smile on his face. He wanted to keep making him smile, for a long, long time. He'd just have to make sure not to be so much an idiot from now on, if Wes let him.

.

Wesley turned and placed the book down on the discarded wrapping paper next to him before turning back to Lindsey, looking suddenly uncomfortable.

"I don't have anything for you," he admitted quietly, feeling stupid. Sure, he couldn't have known that he'd be seeing Lindsey today, but he hadn't even thought to get him a gift at all. Okay, that wasn't strictly true; he'd thought about it, wanted to, imagined it, what he'd get and how much Lindsey would love it, love him, but he hadn't let himself, too afraid he'd be rejected. It was sort of amusing that Lindsey had obviously been thinking the same thing. The difference was, he wasn't a great big chicken, like Wesley.

Oh, and also, Wesley was pissed off. He couldn't let himself forget that. Lindsey had been a jerk, didn't deserve anything from him, deserved to grovel and beg and crawl for Wesley's forgiveness. He knew that. He wasn't stupid.

"Tell me you forgive me," Lindsey said, looking straight at him, face open. "That's the best present I could ask for right now."

Wes smiled a little again, teasing this time to try to hide his hurt, and tilted his head a fraction. "But you haven't apologised yet."

"I'm sorry," Lindsey said, without hesitation, because he really was. "I'm sorry that I didn't listen to you when you tried to talk to me after… after I caught you with him." Those words were harder to get out that he thought they'd be. He'd already forgiven Wes for what he'd done, but it was obviously going to be a sore spot for awhile.

"I'm sorry that I did what I did with him the back of my fucking truck, and I'm sorry I made you watch it. I was an asshole. Totally. I was trying to make you feel what I felt, thinking… I don't even know what." He dug his heel into the sand in front of him, watching the small grains pile up innocuously on either side of his foot, wishing he could do a lot more damage. He hated himself for what he'd done, for how much he'd hurt Wesley, and he knew he had to work on this vengeful streak of his. Wanted to. For Wes.

"Fuck, baby," he said, and then cringed, not sure how the endearment would be received, but he looked sideways at Wesley, and his face remained neutral, so he continued. "I've never felt this way before. About anyone. When I'm with you, when I think about you, when you touch me… It's so amazing I almost can't stand it. When you did what you did, it almost killed me. And I got a little crazy.

"Shit, I'm not very good at this 'bearing your soul' crap, never have been. Even worse at admitting that I was wrong," he added with a small smile. "When you were with Connor… it didn't change how I felt about you. I'm not sure anything could. And that just pissed me off even more. I never stopped wanting you, not for a second. But I was a dick. Instead of telling you that, I decided that I needed to… even the score somehow, I guess. That if I did what you did, and we all knew about it, that we could forget all about that skinny little emo freak, and get on with things, but… it only made everything worse. I know that.

"And I know that I probably don't deserve another chance, but… I want one. Need one. I need you, Wes. Everything just seems so dull, lifeless when you're not around, and I feel sick, Wes, physically ill, that I did something like that to you, hurt you. On purpose. I'll understand if you can't forgive me, but please tell me you can."

"You broke my heart Lindsey," Wesley said, finally, voice shaking with emotion. A rather large part of him just wanted to skip this part, skip talking about any of it, and just get to the next part where they were happy, but he knew it would help to clear the air, uncomfortable as it was. "Seeing the two of you together was like... I thought I had died. I'm in _love_ with you. Do you understand that? Do you even know what that feels like?"

Lindsey swallowed and tentatively took Wesley's hand. "I think I do."

"I know it didn't mean very much to you, what you did, and I don't really think that makes it any better. You _wanted_ me to see that. You _wanted_ to hurt me. I know, I suppose I even knew then, that it was just your fucked up way of trying to make things right, but it was wrong. _You_ were wrong."

"I know that, Wes," Lindsey said, voice and eyes pleading for a forgiveness that he knew he didn't deserve. "And I'll do anything. _Anything_. I just… please know that I'm more fuckin' sorry about this than I've ever been. I didn't deal with this right, I know that. And I'm gonna spend however long you let me tryin' to make this up to you, to learn how to deal with things better. Please Wes," he begged, unshed tears, brought on by the fear that Wes might not take him back, glistening in his eyes. "Please. I _need_ you."

Wesley chuckled, though there was nothing really funny about anything. "You don't, actually. You'd be fine without me, after a while. Just as I'd be fine without you." It was true, people broke up all the time, and were fine eventually. But neither of them wanted to be.

"Don't say that," Lindsey begged. "I did a shitty thing." Wesley looked at him incredulously and Lindsey amended, "Okay, a completely fucked up, asshole thing. But I only did it because I… I wanted you back, and it was the only thing I could think of doing to make that happen, the only way I could get over what I thought you did. I was wrong about that, I know that now. Fuck, I knew that _then_, but… I'm just sorry. And if you let me, if you help me, I'll be good for you. Good to you."

"You're right," Wesley said, squeezing Lindsey's hand, the first sign he'd acknowledged that Lindsey had taken it. "You are an asshole. There's not a single one of my friends that thinks I should take you back after… well after what a complete and utter twat you were."

"Not one of mine, either," Lindsey mumbled, trying to be angry that nobody was on his side, but unable to deny that they were all right. Fuck, where was time travel when you needed it?

"Luckily none of them gets to decide what I chose to do," Wesley said, corner of his mouth turning up as he looked shyly at Lindsey. "I've already forgiven you, I suppose. You were hurting, you lashed out, acted… I'd say unforgivably, but we but we both know that's not entirely true. I know you better than you think I do, Lindsey. I know you can be petty, and vindictive, but I know that it takes a lot of feeling to bring that out in you.

"I just… need to know that you're not going to jump into bed with whichever person crosses your path every time we have a misunderstanding."

"You know Connor didn't just 'cross my path', Wes," Lindsey said, sounding apologetic and a little bit frustrated. "You know I only did it, only picked him, because you did."

"Well, yes. It would be good if we could avoid the whole 'tit for tat' sort of relationship, if you think you can manage it."

"I'm sure as hell gonna try," Lindsey said, and after a few seconds, when he realised that Wesley really did forgive him, and they really would be okay, and he was allowed to be upset too, continued.

"And… _Misunderstanding_?" he asked, making the word sound like a huge understatement. "I know I overreacted, but Wes, come on. I caught you in bed. Naked. With someone else. I know you had had a lot to drink, and you weren't exactly thinking clearly, but you have to admit that you made at least a couple of bad choices that night."

Wesley cocked his eyebrow at Lindsey, and Lindsey immediately ducked his head. "You're right. Sorry. There's no excuse for what I did, and I swear to you, if you take me back, nothing like this will ever happen again. Hurting you like that, once… it was more than enough. I'm damn glad you can forgive me, because it'll be a while before I can forgive myself."

"No, it won't happen again," Wesley said, full of confidence. It wouldn't. They'd learnt their lesson early on, and hopefully they could both use it to make their relationship better. "Because from now on we're going to talk about things when we're upset, and we're going to believe each other. Because if we can't trust each other, then we have nothing anyway. And... And I'm sorry too," Wesley said, dropping his eyes and holding Lindsey's hand tighter.

"I shouldn't have been with Connor. Period. I'm a moron. An insensitive, selfish, clueless moron, and I'm so very sorry that I did that to you, that you had to see… It wasn't the first time he'd tried to initiate sex, and I knew that, and no, I wasn't thinking clearly, but I should have known better than to let him help me into bed. Though I promise you, Lindsey, nothing happened. I wouldn't have let it."

"I know," Lindsey said, cracking a bit of a smile. "Connor told me what really went on that night. I think he's finally decided to back off and let you be with me."

Wesley returned his smile and picked up his beer, finally twisting the top off and drinking some. "I think so too. Though I'm fairly certain that I don't need for Connor to _let_ me do anything. But yes, he called me a few days after the two of you... well... and told me how horrible he felt about everything and that he understood that I was never going to love him, and he genuinely seemed like he was going to be okay with it. Besides, I have a feeling Andrew has begun to wear him down."

Lindsey laughed and raised his beer can, clinking it against Wesley's. "Here's to them. Hope it gets them out of our hair."

"Yes, quite," Wesley agreed, and then there was a smugness about him that would have been annoying as hell if it wasn't so damn cute. "He also told me that the two of you didn't go all the way. You had planned on it, but couldn't go through with it because you were both thinking of me. He even told me that you called out my name at some point."

Wesley looked entirely too pleased with himself, especially for someone who was talking about how they'd been cheated on, but Lindsey had to admit that his ability to seem superior even at the worst of times was one of things he loved about him, and he smiled and shook his head. "Pfft. Whatever. You think you're pretty hot, don't you?"

Wesley face grew serious and he looked out onto the ocean, small waves crashing against the sand and being pulled back out. "I'm glad," he said, quietly. "The idea of you with someone else... I know you still did... things... and I'm going to have a hard time getting rid of those images, but I'm very glad that you didn't have sex with him."

Several minutes passed in silence, both of them sipping from their drinks and watching the waves break on the shore. "Are we okay?" Lindsey finally asked. He thought they were, thought that Wes thought they were, but he needed for someone to say it out loud, to make it official somehow, that they were together, that they were good, that things would work out.

"Yes," Wesley answered, turning to him with so much joy and love in his eyes. "Yes, I think we are."

"Thank Christ," Lindsey breathed, relief washing through him. "You know I… I just want to forget about this," he finished, but his first instinct had been to say something else. "I just want you."

"I love you, Lindsey," Wesley said in answer. "I want that too." He really did. He even thought that if they tried hard enough, it might work.

"So… what now?" Lindsey asked, glad that they were back, but still a little unsure, a little awkward.

"Now?" Wesley asked with a mischievous grin. "Now, you spend the foreseeable future being ridiculously kind, thoughtful, selfless, catering to my every whim and doing exactly as I tell you until I decide to let you off the hook for what you did. I think we'll start with you reminding me what it was that Oz suggested you do after you buy me something pretty."

Lindsey laughed, warmth filling him as he leaned closer to Wesley and whispered, "Let me show you."

And for a start, he kissed him.

END

Notes** Thanks so much for reading, and if you made it this far, I'd love to hear what you thought. Also, I was given a few absolutely stunning banners and manips to go with this fic, and they're posted on my LiveJournal. Please take the time to check it out here: http://rockstarpeach .livejournal. com/ 33724. html The artists are just brilliant. (only without the spaces, cause I can't seem to figure out how to put a link in this text without it dissapearing!)


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